Green Arrow: Resurrection
by prophet87
Summary: The JLA has been destroyed, the heroes captured or worse. Lex believes himself invincible, but he reckons without one man's quest for justice.
1. Chapter 1

So here it is – the start of the sequel to Nemesis! I was in two minds about whether to write this, but in the end I've decided to go for it. I have so many ideas about where I want to take this story, and, as many of you have said, the end of Nemesis didn't quite feel as if it gave this set of stories closure. I hope I've made the right decision – time will tell, I guess.

If you have not read Nemesis (or have forgotten where we left things) here is a quick summary:

Lex, knowing Oliver's identity as the Green Arrow, hatched a plot to destroy both him and the Justice League. Recruiting Slade (aka Deathstroke), he first of all took out each member of the League, before turning his attention on Oliver. Lex's plan was a devastating success, leaving all our heroes in various states of jeopardy:

**Victor, aka Cyborg**: captured by Lex, the contents of his mind have been downloaded onto a flash drive, leaving his body a lifeless shell.

**Bart, aka Impulse: **tortured by Lex, he has been subjected to mind altering experiments. As a result he now works for Lex, and helped capture both Oliver and Chloe.

**AC, aka Aquaman**: captured and injected with a drug which paralyses him but leaves him fully conscious, he is suffering a long, lingering death trapped in a pod anchored to the bottom of the ocean.

**Clark**: in trying to save Oliver Clark's identity was exposed. Lex used kryptonite to capture him, and he is now being held in a secure LuthorCorp facility.

**Chloe: **captured by Lex and forced to watch Oliver's terrible final ordeal, she too is now a prisoner in a secure facility.

**Oliver, aka Green Arrow: **his secret identity revealed to the people of Metropolis, Oliver was framed for the murder of a cop. Tried and convicted, he was sent to a top secret prison in North Korea, named Nemesis. There he was tortured by both the guards and the other inmates, but also made a friend in the shape of Roy Harper, another man imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. Eventually Lex arrived at Nemesis. He had Oliver tried in a kangaroo court, before presiding over his execution and subsequent burial in an unmarked grave.

As you can see, my stories tend to push the angst to the max! This one will be no different, and I warn you now – not everyone will make it out alive!

So this is it – here we go again!

**Chapter One: Just the Beginning….**

_**The following takes place five months after the events of Nemesis.**_

Ken Hoskins was a happy man.

Five months had passed since Oliver Queen's trial and conviction for murder, five months in which everything had gone right for him. Before those fateful events he'd faced defeat at the ballot box, all the resources of Queen Industries about to be deployed against him as he attempted to secure re-election as Metropolis's District Attorney. How times change; the day before he'd romped to victory over his opponent by a massive thirty points. Everyone was talking about him, the man who had bravely stood up to the Green Arrow's reign of terror and brought him to justice. A week earlier the Daily Planet had run a feature on him, touting him as one of the city's rising stars. A couple of years and he'd be running for state office, and then…. Well, who could tell? He was the man of the moment, and anything was possible in the land of the free.

It was all a lie, of course. Far from being the fearless crusader for law and order, Hoskins was one of the most corrupt and venal figures ever to climb the greasy pole of political ambition. Queen had found out about some of his more murky dealings, and had promised to ruin him; he would have succeeded, had not Lex Luthor intervened. Helping Lex to destroy Oliver had been an unforgettable experience. As he'd watched Luthor's plan unfold he'd felt he was watching a genius at work. Every detail of that plan had been so meticulously crafted, so carefully honed, it was nothing short of a work of art. The capture of Oliver's team, the framing of the Green Arrow for the murder of a young cop, his unmasking, trial and imprisonment – the plan had been breath-taking in its audacity, and devastating in its effectiveness. Queen had been ruined in every sense imaginable. He'd lost his friends, his reputation, his liberty, even his fortune; Hoskins found it deliciously ironic that, thanks to Lex, the Queen Industries money that once threatened to ruin him had in the end helped him to secure re-election. Finally, of course, Queen had lost his life. He'd heard second hand about what had happened at Nemesis. The cover story released to the press was that Oliver had been shot dead whilst trying to escape; little did people know about what had really happened in that secret prison thousands of miles from Metropolis. Hoskins was disappointed he'd not been there for the kill. He'd have loved to watch Queen die, the golden boy of Metropolis society finally getting what he deserved. Lex had promised to show him the film he'd made of the execution – now the campaign was over, maybe he'd take him up on his offer.

A bell indicated that the elevator had reached its destination. It was past eleven, and Hoskins was keen to get home; he'd been forced to work late to catch up on a backlog of emails and files which had stacked up during the final days of the campaign. As the doors slid back he pulled his coat a little more tightly around him. The parking lot in the basement of his building was cold at the best of times, but in the middle of winter the biting wind which whipped around the concrete pillars made it positively glacial. Grasping his briefcase tightly in his hand, he began to make his way towards his car. He walked briskly, eager for the comfort of his brand new Audi, a gift from Lex for services rendered. It wasn't just the cold that urged him on; whatever reason told him, he found the lot an eerie, unsettling place at night. The muted lighting cast long shadows, and his sense of isolation and uneasiness was somehow made worse by the sound of his heels hitting the concrete floor and echoing off the grey, lifeless walls.

He stopped, his senses suddenly on edge. He thought he'd heard something – a noise, a sound that didn't belong. He looked to his left and right, his eyes scanning the shadows, trying to locate its source. There was nothing, just the usual handful of cars left here overnight by people who for whatever reason had found other ways of getting home. _You're getting paranoid, _he thought to himself, relaxing a little as he continued his walk towards his car. But his pace was a little quicker now; instinctively he felt that something wasn't right, _that he wasn't alone_…..

As he neared his car he reached into his pocket to find his keys. As he did so he noticed a pool of liquid that seemed to be emanating from beneath the vehicle. He sniffed, the distinctive smell of gas filling his nostrils….

"Hello Hoskins."

He froze. That voice… so distinctive, so unmistakable. Surely it couldn't be – could it?

He spun round, his eyes wide with fear.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

There was no reply. The lot appeared empty; all was silent, save for the sound of the wind which continued to cut around the concrete pillars.

"If this is a joke…."

A strange sound, as if an invisible knife was slicing through the air. Hoskins felt his briefcase move in his hand. He looked down, to find an arrow embedded in its side….

He'd seen enough. Letting out a half strangled scream of terror, he dropped the briefcase, fumbling desperately to find his keys.

_It can't be him – Please God, it can't be him!_

The keys were in his hand now. He was trying to find the right one, but his hands were shaking so much he could barely make out one from another….

"Drop the keys."

Hoskins felt the touch of something cold and sharp against the back of his neck. Terrified, he froze. The knot of fear that had been forming in his gut tightened as he realised that it was not a gun that was now pressing deep into his flesh; it was the tip of a crossbow bolt.

"I said, drop the keys."

Without a word, Hoskins did as he was told. He could sense the man behind him, less than a foot from where he stood. He was almost glad that he could not turn around; he didn't want to have his worst fears confirmed.

"Move."

Slowly, Hoskins began to walk away from the car. Not once did he even catch a glimpse of his attacker, but the press of the bolt against the back of his neck was an all too real reminder of his continuing presence.

"That's far enough."

Hoskins stopped, about twenty feet from his car. Silence followed, disturbed only by Hoskins' labored breathing as he struggled to control the wave of panic that threatened at any moment to overwhelm him. It was an unnerving silence, a silence which Hoskins' tormented mind filled with nightmarish imaginings. Was it really him? Had he really come back from the dead to wreak his revenge?

"Please…. Please, tell me what you want!" he stammered, unable to endure the uncertainty any longer.

"You know what I want."

Hoskins felt sick. He'd hoped the man was after his wallet. He wasn't – he was after something that both men understood, even though as yet it was unspoken.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"You know who I am, Hoskins."

And he _did_ know – there was no point denying it to himself now. However much he wished it wasn't true, that synthetically deep voice could have only one owner. It _was_ him - incredible, impossible as it might seem, it _was_ him.

"Kneel."

Hoskins fell to his knees.

"Please… please don't kill me!" he whimpered, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. "I didn't know what Lex was planning, I swear! He never told me they were going to kill Caruso….."

"Shut up!" interrupted the voice. For the first time he sounded angry, and as if to reinforce the point Hoskins felt the bolt press deeper into the back of his neck, forcing his head downwards.

"I want you to deliver a message for me," continued the voice. "A message for Lex. Tell him I'm back. Tell him I'm coming for him, and nothing –_ nothing_ – is going to stand in my way. Tell him I'm going to kill him. He won't know where it will happen, or when, but tell him – I _will_ kill him."

The words echoed around the deserted lot, their vengeful certainty amplified by the absolute conviction with which they were spoken. Hoskins felt as if he were in the thrall of an almost elemental force, a force that would not be denied….

Suddenly the pressure of the crossbow bolt disappeared. Hoskins did not move; terrified, he hardly dared to even breathe. Seconds past – long, agonising seconds, filled with uncertainty and fear. Had he gone? Was it really all over?

"I'll be watching you, Hoskins," repeated the voice. This time it was different; the voice sounded more distant, as if it were coming from somewhere above him.

"If you want to live, deliver the message."

Hoskins caught sight of some movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, almost without thinking. At first all he saw was the empty lot, but then something made him look upwards, towards the large window high up on the far wall. He gasped. There, silhouetted against the moonlight, was the impossible:

_The Green Arrow!_

Horrified, Hoskins watched as the hooded figure began to draw back his bow. Thinking he was the target, he threw himself to the ground, blubbering incoherently. He wanted the unyielding concrete to give way, to swallow him up and protect him from the nightmarish reality that now enfolded him. It would not, of course; shaking uncontrollably, he could only wait, horribly exposed and alone…

For a second time there was the sound of an arrow slicing through the air, before an almighty explosion rocked the ground beneath him. A searing wave of heat singed the back of his neck, and as he lay face down on the ground he could hear debris falling like rain all around.

_His car!_

Hoskins looked up. His Audi was a ball of flames, the gas which had been leaking from its tank ignited by a single arrow from the archer's bow. It was a spectacular sight, but Hoskins knew it was more than that:

It was a declaration of war.

He rolled over, half expecting to see the hooded man taking aim for a second time. The ledge in front of the window was now empty, however; his tormentor had gone.

Hoskins slumped back, exhausted. The last two minutes had been the most terrifying of his entire life, and he couldn't quite believe that he had escaped unscathed. However, as he lay motionless on the ground, his heart pumping furiously in his chest, he felt no sense of relief; instead he was filled with foreboding. One thought gnawed away at him, a thought he could not shake:

_This is just the beginning….._

* * *

><p>I hope that's whetted your appetite for more! Is the hooded man Oliver? You'll have to wait to find out...<p>

The next chapter will take us back to events immediately after Oliver's death. Questions will be answered, but I'm afraid you are going to have to wait a bit - real life is closing in again, and so the next installment won't appear for a few weeks yet.

Have you heard the news about the Arrow pilot? When I found out about it my heart nearly jumped out of my chest, I was so excited. Then I discovered they probably won't cast Justin in the role - seriously, that is a crueller twist than anything I have ever written in my stories! I'm devastated to think of someone else putting on that costume - just devastated. Justin will always be Green Arrow for me, whatever happens.

You know what I'm going to ask for now, don't you? Please do post a review if you can - your feedback will tell me whether this was a mistake, and will fire me up to write more. Reviews have kept me going down the years, so please don't stop now - the fate of this story, the guys, Chloe and Oliver rests in your hands!


	2. Chapter 2: Escape

**Chapter Two: Escape**

_The following takes place five months before the events of Chapter One, the day after Oliver's death at Nemesis._

Roy Harper sat on the cold, hard floor of his cell, staring blankly at the featureless wall opposite. The effects of the beating he'd received from the guards when they'd dragged him here were all too obvious; blood oozed from a cut on his lower lip, and a punch to the face had caused his right eye to swell up so much he could barely see out of it. Purple and blue bruises on his face and arms bore testimony to the ferocity of the attack to which he'd been subjected, and even hours later pain continued to pulse unabated through every fiber of his being. There had been five of them, and they hadn't held back; for ten minutes or more they'd laid into him, kicking and punching so hard Roy had feared they intended to kill him. They hadn't, of course – nor was that ever the intention. Galton had given them strict instructions about just how far they could go, and, well practised in the art of torture, they'd known just when to pull back. Galton wanted him alive, at least for now. A quick death was too easy; he had to be made to suffer, to pay for his defiance in daring to help Oliver.

Ahead of him stretched weeks, maybe months, of torture, before eventually either his body gave out or Galton took a gun and put a bullet through his head. Roy knew this, but as he sat staring at the wall of the cell he wasn't thinking about the horrors to come. Nor was he thinking about the pain he continued to endure, or the cuts and bruises that now disfigured his body. Instead he was thinking about those terrible scenes he had witnessed just twenty four hours earlier, scenes which, try as he might, he could not shake from his mind. He'd seen men die before; the violence that was never far from the surface at Nemesis often claimed a life as fights between prisoners turned deadly. An execution was different. The ritual, the formality, somehow made it more terrible, still more so when that formality had been corrupted to claim the life of an innocent man. The image of Oliver strapped down onto that gurney, writhing in agony as slowly the poison did its awful work, was seared into his memory so deeply he wondered whether he would ever be able to shake it from his mind. It had been a gut wrenching scene, made all the more so by the tragic figure who had stood weeping at his side through those long, terrifying minutes. They had not spoken, both their mouths ruthlessly silenced with strips of duct tape, but Roy instinctively knew who she was from the moment he laid eyes on her. It was Chloe, the woman who Oliver loved more than anything else in the world. Lex had brought her there to witness his execution, a twist designed to crush the spirit of a man already condemned to the most terrible of deaths. What sort of a monster could do that? What sort of hate was so powerful that it could move a man to acts of such sadism? Oliver had told him about Lex, about the crimes he'd committed. However, it was only as Roy had watched him orchestrate those final terrible moments that he had seen the truth with his own eyes. Lex was no ordinary criminal – he was the very personification of evil itself.

He still couldn't come to terms with what had happened. Oliver was an innocent man, a good man – how could he die like that? He felt shattered, as if he'd lost a close friend, even a brother. In the bleak, hopeless world of Nemesis, Oliver had been like a shining light. Now that light had been extinguished, and he felt empty, and so alone. Galton and his men could do what they wanted with him – for Roy, it seemed as if life was already over.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps and muffled voices in the corridor outside the cell. Were Galton's apes coming back for more? Roy tensed, bracing himself for the worst….

A key turned in the lock. The heavy steel door swung open, but instead of the guards that he had been expecting, Roy found himself looking up into the familiar face of the doctor.

"Roy!"

The doctor's eyes widened, shocked by the sight of his former assistant. In an instant he was at the young man's side, his features etched with concern as he examined Roy's wounds.

"It's going to be alright, Roy!" he said breathlessly, fumbling in his pocket for something to wipe away the blood from Roy's eye. "We're going to get you out of here."

"What…. What do you mean?" asked Roy, his voice so weak it was barely audible.

"There's no time for questions. Can you walk?"

"I…. I think….."

"Good. Here, let me help you."

Carefully the doctor helped Roy to his feet. He swayed a little as he stood up, and the doctor had to reach out to steady him. Roy had no idea what was going on, and part of him believed that what was happening was some sort of hallucination, the product of the beatings he had received at the hands of Galton's men. Slowly, the two men began to edge towards the door, the doctor supporting his friend as he struggled to master the waves of pain that now pulsated through muscles that did not want to move. Then, suddenly, they came to an abrupt halt, their way forward blocked by a man wearing the familiar uniform of a Nemesis guard.

Instinctively Roy recoiled, readying himself for the inevitable baton blow to his gut or skull.

"It's okay," said the doctor, trying to reassure his friend. "Wilson's on our side – he's going to help us."

Roy, already confused, did not understand. "What is this? What's going on?"

"I told you – we're getting you out of here."

Still not fully able to grasp what was going on, Roy looked from the doctor to the guard, and then back again.

"But…."

"There's no time, Roy," interrupted the doctor. "I promise you I will get you out of here, but you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

Roy studied the doctor's face for a second or two. In all the months he'd known him, he'd never seen him like this. He seemed possessed by some new found urgency, and his eyes blazed with an intensity that demanded Roy accept without question what he was being asked to do. It was almost as if he were a different person. Gone was the doctor of a few days earlier, a man worn down by the drab routine of prison life; in his place was a man of action, seemingly prepared to risk all to save his life.

"Will you trust me, Roy?" repeated the doctor, grabbing him by the shoulders and imploring him to understand.

"Yes," said Roy dumbly, his brain struggling to catch up with this sudden and unexpected turn of events. "Yes, I trust you."

"Good – that's good."

"We need to move now, doc – the next patrol is due in fifteen minutes," said Wilson, casting a concerned glance out into the corridor.

"Ready?" asked the doctor.

"Ready."

The three men stepped out of the cell and began moving down the corridor. Wilson led the way, with Roy and doctor following. Roy was unsteady on his feet, and so the doctor had to support him; despite this, they were able to move at a reasonable pace. For five or six minutes they threaded their way through a maze of corridors, all of which looked exactly the same. Much to Roy's amazement, in all that time they didn't meet a single person; Nemesis felt abandoned, a ghost ship compared to the chaos and violence of the preceding days.

"We're on lockdown," said the doctor, as if anticipating Roy's question. "Galton's given his men some r and r – says they deserve it after all that's happened. Skeleton patrols are operating, but they're concentrating on the main wing – this part of Nemesis is largely deserted."

A minute or so later and they came to a halt in front of yet another anonymous looking door. The doctor reached out and punched an access code into the electronic keypad. Without hesitating, he then pushed open the door, and the three men stepped inside.

Roy found himself standing in a large hall, probably about the size of a tennis court. It was empty, save for a row of large black plastic holdalls lined up neatly down the center of the room.

Roy gasped. He knew instantly what he was looking at:

Body bags.

"The victims of the riot," said the doctor. "Thirty-three prisoners were killed when Luthor's men stormed the main hall. The corpses are to be sent to a research facility in Nevada – there's always a market for cadavers for medical experiments, and Galton's got a lucrative deal going with a lab which is happy not to ask too many questions."

"I don't understand – why are we here?"

The doctor smiled. "These guys are your ticket out of here, Roy," he said. "Wilson and I are in charge of transporting these bodies back to the States, only when we load up in an hour or so's time there's going to be one extra bag in the consignment – the bag that is going to be carrying you to freedom."

Roy's jaw dropped. He was stunned by the audacity of the doctor's plan, but it made perfect sense – what other way was there to get out of Nemesis but in a body bag?

"There's more, Roy," continued the doctor. "You won't be making this journey alone – here, let me show you something."

He made his way down the line of bags, counting carefully to ensure he found the right one. Mystified, Roy followed. He was still trying to come to terms with the dramatic turn of events of the previous half hour, which had seen abject hopelessness give way to the miracle of possible escape. What else could the doctor have in store?

He came to a halt next to the eleventh body, just in time to watch as the doctor leaned down and unzipped the bag. For the second time in as many minutes Roy gasped, shocked by the sight which met his eyes.

There, still and lifeless, lay Oliver.

At first glance he appeared just to be sleeping. However, the deathly pallor of his complexion told a different story; drained of all color, his features looked ghostly, a reminder that the life force which had once animated the young hero had gone. The contrast with the last time Roy had seen him could not have been greater. Then he had been in the agony of his final moments, his body convulsed by paroxysms of unbearable pain; now, at last, he was at peace, serene and still.

"Oliver….," he whispered, staring down at the man who in a few short days he had come to love like a brother.

"Luthor had him buried out in the forest," said the doctor. "Fortunately Wilson here was part of the burial detail, so it was relatively easy to retrieve the body once Luthor and his men had left."

Overcome, Roy said nothing for a moment. Then the doctor's words began to sink in, their meaning penetrating the fog of confusion that filled Roy's mind.

"Why…. Why have you brought him here?" he asked, suddenly becoming agitated. "Couldn't you have left him to rest in peace? He doesn't deserve to end up on a slab in some lab…."

"Roy, Roy, it's okay!" said the doctor, interrupting his young friend. "Oliver's not going to that lab in Nevada. No, both of you are going to Star City to see a friend of mine, Dr Emil Hamilton – I think he's going to be able to help."

"Help? How can he help?" asked Roy, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"He can help Oliver, Roy," replied the doctor, pausing for a second as if he were searching for the right words. "He can help Oliver come back to us."

"Come back to us? What do you mean? What is this?"

"Roy," said the doctor quietly, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Oliver's not dead. He's alive, Roy – _Oliver's alive_."

His head spinning, Roy simply stared at the doctor for a few seconds. Was this a dream after all? Because surely this couldn't be real – it was too fantastic, too incredible for words.

"But…. But I saw him die," he stammered, turning and looking down at Oliver's unmoving form. He certainly looked dead – had the doctor taken leave of his senses?

"I altered the drug," said the doctor. "What you saw looked real, but it wasn't – it was a special compound designed to simulate the _appearance_ of death. The drug's experimental – Dr Hamilton and I have been corresponding on its contents for months. A little project of ours, something to help me wile away the hours in this place. I couldn't be sure it would work, but I had to try – it was Oliver's only chance. It places the patient in a form of suspended animation – all life signs appear extinguished, but with the administration of the right antidote it should be possible to bring him back."

"So why not give him the antidote? Doc, you need to bring him back now – who knows what this stuff might be doing to him!" said Roy, his shock giving way first to excitement, and then to alarm. It all seemed so unbelievable, and yet he did not doubt that the doctor was telling him the truth. He was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of urgency; he needed to bring Oliver back now, for fear that delay would rob him of a miracle that he would never have thought possible, even in his wildest of imaginings.

"I can't," replied the doctor, his face darkening. "Like I said, the compound is experimental – at this stage the antidote only exists on paper. That's where Emil comes in. He's a brilliant man, Roy – if anyone can bring Oliver back, it's him."

As Roy digested yet another revelation Wilson joined them. He looked anxious, glancing over at the door and checking his gun in its holster.

"Doc, we need to do this_ now,_" he said. "The next patrol will be here in a couple of minutes."

The doctor nodded. "Roy, I know you've got questions, but we don't have any more time. I know this isn't easy to take in, but we need you to get into the bag now."

He looked to his left. Roy did the same, and saw an empty body bag lying open. His head was filled with a hundred and one questions, but he didn't hesitate; without saying another word, he stepped into the bag and lay down. He barely had time to manoeuvre himself into position, before the doctor was leaning over him, a syringe in his hand.

"What the f…?"

"It's okay, Roy," said the doctor, his words again offering reassurance. "This is just a sedative to knock you out for the journey – we can't risk the guards on the plane realising you're alive."

Roy looked from the syringe to the doctor, his eyes filled with trepidation.

"Trust me," said the doctor simply, fixing his friend with a look that demanded acceptance. "It's going to be okay, Roy – I promise you."

Roy looked for a moment, and then nodded. Carefully the doctor slipped the needle into Roy's arm, silently emptying its contents into his bloodstream. Roy leaned back, wondering as he did so whether this really was all just a dream. He didn't have time to answer his own question; in a matter of seconds his eyes flickered, before everything went black.

* * *

><p>Oliver's alive - yay!<p>

Well, I couldn't really kill off the world's greatest hero, now could I? This sequel needs him - he's got a team to save, after all. But don't think it is all going to be easy from here on in - far from it. I've got a large amount of torment and angst planned, I promise - would you really want it any other way?

I hope this chapter works for you - Emil seemed a perfect angle to pursue as the agent for Ollie's return from the dead.

Sorry it has taken me so long to update. Real life has been crazy, and once you get out of the habit of writing it is _so_ difficult to get started again. I do have most of this story mapped out in my head, and I will try to update as frequently as I can.

Thanks so much for the amazing response to the start of this story - it is so inspiring to know that you guys are out there and keen to read more. Please do post a review if you can - you know that feedback is the oxygen my stories need to continue!


	3. Chapter 3: A Message Delivered

**Chapter Three: A Message Delivered**

**_The Present Day_**

"It was him, Lex – I swear on my mother's life it was him!"

Lex sighed to himself. He'd never had much time for Hoskins; a career politician of the worst kind, he'd always appeared weak and self-serving. He'd been handsomely rewarded for the part he'd played in destroying Oliver, and Lex was quite happy to keep him sweet by financing his re-election campaign. However, having a politician on the payroll was one thing – having to listen to his neurotic outbursts was quite another. Seconds earlier the man had burst into his office unannounced, raving about some encounter he'd had with a mugger the night before. He was making no sense, but it was clear something had spooked him; much to Lex's irritation, he realised that he was not going to get away early after all.

"Calm down, Ken," he said quietly. "Here, why don't you take a seat and tell me what happened?"

"I don't want to take a seat!" snapped Hoskins, continuing to pace up and down in front of Lex's desk like some sort of caged animal.

Lex paused. The man was more agitated than he'd ever seen him; whatever it was that had happened to him, it had clearly shaken him up pretty bad.

"Tell me what happened, Ken – you said something about your car?"

"He blew it up! One shot, and BANG – it was gone! It was a warning, Lex. He's coming for us – he's after revenge and he'll stop at nothing until he's got us all!"

Far from calming down, Hoskins appeared to be becoming more and more agitated. Lex could see beads of sweat running down his forehead, and his eyes had a wild, hunted look about them. The man was scared – seriously scared.

"Who's coming for us, Ken? Who attacked you?"

"Haven't you been listening? It was Queen – Oliver Queen attacked me!"

Lex was silent for a moment. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that – the man had clearly lost it.

"Oliver's dead, Ken," he said slowly, hoping that a cool presentation of the facts would puncture Hoskins' growing sense of panic. "I buried him myself, in a forest a mile or so outside Nemesis. Whoever you saw, it wasn't Oliver."

"It was him, Lex! I know it sounds crazy, but it was him!"

"And you saw him clearly, did you? Saw his face?"

For the first time Hoskins hesitated. "Well, not exactly… but it was him, Lex, I swear! The costume, the glasses, the voice distorter – it was him!"

"So it was the Green Arrow who jumped you – is that it?"

Things were beginning to make a little more sense now. Hoskins had been attacked, but not by Oliver, back from the dead – instead it sounded more and more as if he'd been the victim of some elaborate practical joke.

"It was him, Lex – I know it!"

"Ken, you've had a shock – I can see that," said Lex, getting up from his desk and walking round to where Hoskins was now standing. The man was literally shaking with fear, and flinched when Lex put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But it wasn't Oliver – trust me. Sounds like someone hired a costume to freak you out, and by the looks of things they succeeded. I'll have my people do some digging – see if they can't turn up a name or two."

"He wanted me to pass on a message," said Hoskins, apparently not listening. He turned towards Lex, his face ashen.

"He's going to kill you, Lex. That's what he wanted me to tell you – he's going to hunt you down and kill you."

There was silence for a few seconds, Hoskins' words left hanging in the air. Outwardly Lex remained impassive, apparently unmoved by what he'd just been told. Inside, however, he felt a pang of unease. This was no practical joke – that much was now all too clear. But if not that, then what? Who was this mystery man, and just how much did he know?

"Go home, Ken – leave this with me," he said at last, his voice as confident and assured as always. "I'm sure there's a perfectly harmless explanation to all this – I'll get my people on it right away."

"What if he comes back? What should I do?"

"I'll send four of my best men round to your place," said Lex, guiding Hoskins towards the door. "They'll keep an eye on you until we've figured out what's going on. Now go home, Ken – leave this with me."

Before he had time to respond Hoskins found himself being ushered through the doorway. Smiling, Lex then shut the door in his face. He'd had enough of the other man's neuroses – he needed time to think.

For a few moments he stood motionless by the door. Lex was not a man who gave way easily to panic, but his meeting with Hoskins had left him feeling uneasy. Whoever this mystery man was, he knew more than someone who was just looking for kicks from spooking a prominent city official. He'd made the connection between Hoskins and Lex, knew that the other man could be relied upon to pass on that message. Who was he? What did he want? He had to be someone who knew about the events of five months previously, and that made him dangerous – very dangerous indeed…

He pulled his cell from his jacket pocket; it was time to take control of the situation, before he experienced any more unpleasant surprises.

"Young? Have any incidents been reported at any of my research facilities in the last few days?"

"_No sir – nothing reported."_

"And my guests – all accounted for?" Lex always described his prisoners euphemistically as "guests" – all too aware of the potential for his communications to be intercepted, he was not a man to take chances.

"_All accounted for, sir – the latest reports from Facility 51 indicate that the program is proceeding as scheduled."_

Lex smiled, relieved that at least one possible explanation had been proved wrong. Facility 51 was where his team were working on Clark and Chloe. The experiments there were going well, and Lex was expecting news of a breakthrough within days.

"I want you to double the security at all LuthorCorp facilities with immediate effect," continued Lex. "Put them on Alpha Alert – tell them to expect trouble."

"_Yes sir. Can you be more specific about the nature of the threat?"_

"No – no, not at the moment. Just tell them that the risk of a security breach is high," said Lex, still thinking through his best course of action. "And find out where Bart Allen is, will you? Tell him I want him to report to me at the mansion immediately."

"_Yes sir."_

"I'm going back there now – inform me straight away if you get any reports of suspicious activity, especially at Facility 51."

Lex ended the call, placing his cell back in his pocket. It was time to go home – time to find out what the hell was going on.

Four minutes later and Lex was striding purposefully through the lobby of the LuthorCorp building. Preoccupied with what he had heard from Hoskins, he barely noticed as the doorman pulled open the heavy glass door so that he was able to continue unhindered towards his limo parked up along the sidewalk. His chauffeur was holding the car door open for him, but just as he was about to get in he was suddenly knocked sideways by a powerful blow to his left side. Something, or to be more precise someone, had barrelled straight into him. Lex staggered to the right, dropping his case as he tried to keep his balance. He failed, tottering unsteadily for a moment before falling awkwardly to the ground.

"Oh, man, I'm _so _sorry!" said a voice. Lex looked up, to find a young man staring down at him, his face a picture of remorse. Tall and athletic, Lex guessed he must have been nineteen or twenty. He was wearing a pair of tight fitting dark blue jeans and a black leather biker jacket, the motorcycle helmet in his right hand completing the look.

"I didn't see you," the man continued, trying to make amends for the collision that had sent Lex flying. "Are you hurt? Here, let me help you."

Lex brushed away the man's offer of his hand. His pride dented, he struggled to his feet, his chauffeur hovering in the background and uncertain what to do.

"I am so, so sorry– it was all my fault," continued the man, reaching down and picking up Lex's briefcase. He handed it back to him, trying to make up for the damage done moments earlier. "It's just I'm late for this job interview, and if I don't get this job then I won't be able to pay for my tuition….."

Lex ignored him. Not pausing to brush himself down, he got into the limo, pulling the door shut after him. Scowling straight ahead, he waited impatiently as the chauffeur hurried to get into the driver's seat and start the engine.

"Are you alright, Mr Luthor?" he asked.

"Just drive," replied Lex curtly. Being sent flying outside his own building by some punk was bad enough – he had no intention of dwelling on it with the hired help.

The car began to pull away. Suddenly Lex was overcome with the strangest sensation. There was something about that kid's face – something familiar….

He looked over his shoulder, craning his neck to take another look. His eyes scanned the sidewalk, but he was to be disappointed; the man was gone.

Lex slumped back into his seat. He examined the palm of his right hand. He'd grazed it in the fall, and the skin was now raw. As he looked he spotted the tear down the left leg of his pants, and the dirt that now covered the right arm of his suit jacket.

"_Great," _he thought to himself. _"As if today wasn't going badly enough already."_

From the entrance to a nearby alley Roy Harper watched as Lex's limo pulled away. His heart was beating furiously in his chest, but he was smiling broadly. It might have been a minor operation, but it was his first, and he felt pumped up that it had gone without a hitch. After all the weeks of training, he had finally gone into action - a fully-fledged member of the Justice League, just like Oliver had promised.

He tapped his earpiece, opening up a link to his partner and mentor.

"Arrow, do you read me?"

"_Reading you loud and clear."_

"Everything went as planned – the device has been planted."

"_Understood. Rendezvous at Base at 2200 hours." _

Roy paused for a split second, not sure whether he should say the words he wanted to say.

"Good luck, Arrow," he said awkwardly. "Stay safe, yeah?"

"_Always."_ This time it was the man on the other end of the line who paused. _ "And kid – nice job."_

"Thanks."

"_Arrow out."_

* * *

><p>And so the fight back begins! Hope you liked this, and sorry it has been so long coming - real life is such a pain! More on how we got from the events of chapter 2 to where we are now in future chapters - for now, rest assured that Lex is going to find things getting pretty uncomfortable real soon. Not that our heroes are going to have it all their own way, of course - some serious twists and angst lie ahead!<p>

Thanks for reading, and as always a special thanks to those of you who review - you guys are amazing! Please do leave some feedback if you can - every bit of encouragement helps, and who knows, maybe the next chapter might be posted a bit quicker!


	4. Chapter 4: Battle Joined

**Chapter Four: Battle Joined**

Lex slumped back in his chair, sighing heavily as he threw the papers he had been reading onto the desk in front of him. He'd spent the last hour trying to work, but it was no use - his eyes were scanning the words, but none of it was going in. He could only think of his meeting with Hoskins, and the mysterious attacker whose words of warning had left him with a nagging sense of unease. Who was he? What did he want? The only thing Lex could be sure of was that this was far more than just someone looking for kicks by spooking the city's District Attorney the day after his victory at the ballot box. The costume, the destruction of Hoskins' car, the death threat – everything pointed to something altogether more sinister, more alarming. Lex sensed danger, and the fact that he knew so little about this threat that had suddenly appeared out of nowhere only compounded the vague feelings of anxiety that had begun to gnaw away inside him.

He got to his feet and made his way over to his drinks cabinet. Pouring himself a large single malt, he tried to console himself with the fact that his captives were all still safe and secure. Indeed, just twenty-four hours earlier he'd been celebrating; the team working on Clark had reported excellent progress, and that they expected to complete their final tests within days. As for the others, Victor Stone remained a lifeless shell, his essence downloaded onto a flash drive kept under lock and key, whilst monitoring of the pod which had become Arthur Curry's underwater tomb revealed that at long last Aquaman's lonely, lingering death was finally nearing its end. Bart Allen was a free man, of course, but not for a moment did Lex suspect that he was behind the attack on Hoskins. Ever since his treatment at one of LuthorCorp's more secretive facilities he had become one of Lex's most loyal employees, turning his hand to all manner of illegal activities on behalf of his new boss. What's more, it was clear the kid was enjoying his new life. It was not just the fast cars that Lex provided, nor the succession of women who occupied his bed. The boy was a natural criminal; in freeing him of Oliver's influence, Lex had allowed the real Bart Allen to shine through once more.

Oliver. There had been moments since his meeting with Hoskins that the thought that he might still be alive had entered Lex's head. He'd dismissed the idea immediately, of course. Oliver was dead, that much was certain – he'd watched him die, stood over his grave as they shovelled the dirt over his corpse. There was no way the man who attacked Hoskins could be Oliver – no way at all. And yet…..

He reached out and picked up a tiny handset, not dissimilar to a TV remote control. Turning, he pointed it at a large mirror mounted on the wall directly opposite to his desk. He pressed one of the buttons, and immediately the mirror began to move. Silently it slid to the left, to reveal a hidden display case built into the wall, a case designed to hold Lex's most treasured possession…..

The Green Arrow's tunic.

Lex sighed, relieved that everything was as it should be. He knew it was irrational, but somehow the sight of his trophy helped to ease the doubts that had plagued him over the last few hours. Slowly he made his way over to it. He'd taken great care over its display, even seeking advice about how best to mount it from a curator at the Smithsonian. Pinned discretely to a dark red velvet panel, the tunic seemed almost to glow under the light cast by the tiny bulbs mounted at intervals around the case, the shades of green appearing vibrant and distinct. A bloodstain could clearly be seen on the right hand side of the garment, the result of one of the many beatings Oliver had received during those last, terrible days he'd endured at Nemesis.

How could Oliver be alive? He'd stripped him of this very tunic, just minutes before he injected that poison into his veins. It couldn't be him – it just couldn't.

_The poison…_

Lex froze, his mind gripped by a sudden realisation. The poison – who'd checked the poison? The doctor had filled the cylinders – who'd supervised that? Had anyone checked to see that he was doing what he said he was doing?

But Oliver _was _dead – he had to be. He'd seen the corpse in the body-bag, watched as his men had rolled it into that hole. There was no way he could be alive. His mind was playing tricks on him, making him see ghosts where none existed…

The phone rang. Glad of the distraction, Lex returned to his desk; he was soon to wish he hadn't.

"_Mr Luthor, it's Young."_

"Any news?" asked Lex. He'd ordered his assistant to investigate the attack on Hoskins, and for a moment believed that he must have turned up some sort of lead.

"_Not exactly, sir,"_ replied the other man hesitantly. _"I think you had better turn on your TV."_

Sensing something was wrong, Lex put down the phone and turned towards the large screen which was mounted on a wall to his left. As he pressed the on button on his remote he could feel his muscles beginning to tense; whatever images awaited him, he knew it wasn't going to be good.

In an instant he found himself staring at images of a burning building. Flames could be seen licking out of blown out windows, and the air was filled with clouds of billowing black smoke. Fire crews were fighting the fires, but it was obvious it was a losing battle; the building would soon be little more than a charred shell.

Lex gasped. He knew this building – he knew it well. But it couldn't be…

"….._The cause of the fire is not yet known, but unconfirmed reports say that there was a bomb warning just minutes before an explosion ripped through the building," _ said an unseen reporter, his excited voice providing commentary on the scenes of devastation playing out on screen. _"The police are staying tight lipped, but they have told us that they are confident that the building was empty when the fire took hold. This is still a devastating blow to LuthorCorp – their headquarters has been a landmark in the center of Metropolis for years, and to see it targeted in a possible terrorist attack must be…"_

Lex pressed the mute button; he'd heard enough. He remained rooted to the spot, transfixed by the now silent images that filled the screen. He could not quite believe it, but the evidence of his own eyes could not be denied. The LuthorCorp building, the center of his corporate empire, the place where he had been just hours earlier, was no more. His sense of shock was almost physical, but as he continued to watch the fire crews fight their losing battle with the flames he soon found this emotion giving way to something altogether different, something he had not felt for many months:

Fear.

He did not believe for a moment that what he was seeing was just a coincidence, and that there was no connection between the fire now engulfing his headquarters and the attack on Hoskins. Any lingering hope that this was all some sort of elaborate hoax had gone; whoever was behind this, they clearly meant business.

His cell phone rang. His eyes still fixed on the screen, Lex took the call.

"_Hello, Lex."_

Lex's heart missed a beat; the deep voice, electronically distorted, was unmistakable.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?" he demanded, trying to sound strong even as a knot of terror was tightening in his gut.

"_You know who I am, Luthor,"_ replied the voice, its iron self-control in stark contrast to the other man's increasingly agitated state. _"I'm the man you left for dead at Nemesis, the man you thought you'd never see again. Well you were wrong, Lex. I'm back – and I am going to make you pay for what you've done."_

"You're lying – it can't be you!" said Lex. He felt physically sick; beads of sweat ran down the sides of his face, and his mouth felt dry and cracked.

"_It's me, Lex – but you know that, don't you?"_

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by Lex's increasingly labored breathing. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that the voice was right – he _did _know the identity of this mystery caller.

"Oliver…?" he said finally, not quite believing the truth that was now inescapable.

"_That's right, Lex – it's me, Oliver."_

"But how? How…"

"_How's not important," _interrupted Oliver. "_What matters is that I'm going to destroy you, Lex. The LuthorCorp building is just the start – by the time I've finished there will be nothing left of that business empire you love so much. And do you know what I'm going to do then, Lex?"_

Lex did not reply, the absolute certainty of Oliver's words striking him dumb with terror.

"_I'm going to kill you."_

Again there was silence. Both men understood the significance of that moment, and the promise that Oliver had made. Their lifelong feud had entered its final chapter – and this time, only one of them would survive.

"_Sleep well, Lex," _continued Oliver. _"Oh, and one last thing. The tunic you stole from me at Nemesis? It would look better mounted on black velvet – red was never my color."_

Lex's eyes widened. He spun round, half expecting to find Oliver standing behind him. There was no one – just the sight of the leather tunic, mounted carefully in its glass fronted case.

"Oliver! Oliver….!"

Lex's voice tailed off as he realised that the line was dead. He stood for a moment, trying to regain his composure. He was shaking, and for a second or two he thought he might faint; his head was spinning, and he felt as if his legs might give way under him.

_Focus, Luthor – focus!_

Still reeling, Lex nonetheless tried to gather his thoughts. Oliver was right – how he had survived Nemesis was not important. What mattered was that he was back, and that if Lex did not regain control of events quickly then all that he had worked for would be ruined. His adversary had had the element of surprise on his side, but that was gone now. The odds had evened up – now he had to work fast.

He punched a number into his cell.

"Young? I need you to do something for me," said Lex, his voice still trembling. "….No, deal with the fire later. I want you to find Slade – tell him I've got a job for him, and that he can name his price."

* * *

><p>So now Lex knows - Ollie is alive! Hope you enjoyed this one, including the sting in the tail - Slade is coming, and you just know that can't be good for our hero.<p>

Sorry for once again being so slow with an update - real life is still very busy, and when you get out of the habit of writing it is very difficult to pick it up again. I hope to have more time to write in a couple of weeks, so updates should appear more frequently then. In the meantime thanks for your support - please do post a review if you can, because every little bit of encouragement and feedback helps!


	5. Chapter 5: A Man Possessed

**Chapter Five: A Man Possessed**

Roy Harper couldn't remember a time he'd felt more alive. Hunched over the Ducati, he felt a rush of adrenalin as he roared through the streets of Metropolis, weaving his way effortlessly through the traffic which clogged the city's arteries. He loved the bike, and ever since Oliver had given him the keys a month earlier he'd spent hours just riding around the city, enjoying the sweet purr of the powerful engine as it left everything else standing in its wake. Today, however, was special; today he'd completed his first mission as a member of the Justice League.

He smiled as he recalled his encounter with Lex. It had all gone exactly according to plan, and by now the device which he had planted would be playing its part in giving Luthor the shock of his life. The fire trucks which he'd passed over the last hour or so, their sirens blaring as they headed downtown, were a sign that the other aspect of Oliver's plan was also playing out as expected. The attack on Lex, weeks in the preparation, was at last underway, and Roy was excited to be a part of it. Soon the Justice League would be free, and he would join them in bringing Luthor to his knees. The good guys would win, the bad guy would be punished – it read like something straight out of one of those comic books he'd lapped up as a kid. But this was no story, of course – this was real. The stakes could not have been higher, and if everything went wrong he knew that his own life could be in danger. He was apprehensive, but not afraid; he felt as if he was a part of something special, something important, and he had no intention of walking away now.

As Roy approached his destination the traffic began to thin. Oliver's base was located in a run-down part of the city, filled with warehouses and disused factories. Few people ventured there, unless they had a particular reason to make the journey, and that was what made it the perfect location for a secret base.

_Secret base. _Just the words conjured up an image of something out of a Hollywood movie, but Hollywood had nothing to compare to where he was now headed. Equipped with technology that appeared to be years ahead of its time, Oliver's new home was indeed a remarkable place. They'd relocated there after Oliver had recovered sufficiently from his injuries to be moved from Dr Hamilton's clinic. Apparently he'd fitted the place out a year earlier, ready to act as an emergency headquarters in the event of a crisis. He'd told no one about its existence, not even the other members of his team. He couldn't have known then, of course, how important that decision would turn out to be, with intel from Oliver's surveillance confirming that Bart was now working for LuthorCorp. Since they'd moved in the base had become like a home to Roy, but now it was more than that – it was a command center, a place from which the plan to destroy Lex Luthor would be launched and seen through to its conclusion.

As Roy turned into the empty street that marked the end of his journey his thoughts turned back to the events of the previous few months. Ever since the door to his cell at Nemesis had swung open and the doctor had revealed the truth about Oliver's so-called "death" he had moved from one incredible experience to another. The escape, coming to in Dr Hamilton's clinic, watching as Oliver woke, Lazarus-like, from the dead – the memories were seared into his sub-conscious, his recollection of each event as vivid now as it had been five months previously. Then there had been those long, painful weeks of recovery. Roy had never seen a man drive himself as hard as Oliver had done then. Every day he had trained, pushing his body to the limit and beyond. Hamilton had tried to persuade him to take it easy, to allow himself time to heal, but it had been no use. Oliver had been like a man possessed, pushing himself through the pain barrier day after day to build the mental and physical strength that he would need to take on Luthor's empire. It wasn't a thirst for revenge that had motivated him, but love – love for his friends, love for the pretty young reporter who had stolen his heart. Roy had only met her once, as together they had been forced to watch as Lex pumped poison into Oliver's defenceless body. She had seemed so fragile then, her heart broken by the sight of the man she adored so cruelly taken from her. But she meant everything to Oliver, and Roy knew that the desire to set her free, to hold her in his arms once more, was what powered his friend's almost superhuman desire to recover. He never talked about Chloe, and Roy didn't ask; the teenager knew that the fact that both she and his friends were being held captive was eating away at Oliver inside. He'd caught his friend staring at her picture a couple of times, seen the lost, forlorn look in his eyes. Whatever face Oliver chose to show to Emil and himself, Roy knew the truth; he was a man in anguish, a man who could not rest until he had saved the woman he loved.

Roy turned the bike down a narrow alley, expertly navigating his way through the accumulated detritus of industrial decline until he eventually came to a halt in front of what appeared to be a dead end. Ahead of him stood a brick wall, reaching at least three storeys into the sky. He looked up to his right, his eyes alighting on the hidden camera which was located nine or so feet off the ground. He waited for a few seconds, allowing the invisible scanner to confirm his identity. Then, almost silently, the wall began to slide sideways to reveal a brightly lit tunnel, and Roy guided the bike inside.

A few seconds later and he was bringing the bike to a halt in a large open plan area, about half the size of a tennis court. Along one side stood an array of vehicles, each at the top of its class. There were two more motorbikes, one of which was designed to be used by Oliver on missions; kitted out with the latest surveillance and communication systems, it also carried a range of the Green Arrow's high tech bows. The two Ferraris sparkled under the lights, their highly polished green paintwork hinting at the identity of the man who for weeks had been driving around the streets of Metropolis behind their tinted windshields. Finally, there was the black SUV. Armor plated and with a performance the envy of many a sports car, it was Oliver's vehicle of choice for his most dangerous missions; Roy guessed it would be seeing a lot of action in the coming days.

Dismounting the bike, Roy removed his helmet and turned towards the bank of screens that were mounted on the far side of the room. In front of them, his back turned towards Roy, stood Oliver. Still dressed in the leathers of his alter ego, he appeared engrossed by the images playing out on the screens. Roy understood why; even the national networks had picked up on the explosion and fire at the LuthorCorp building, and their broadcasts appeared full of images of billowing smoke and interviews with what were presumably LuthorCorp employees, all in varying states of agitation and excitement.

Oliver did not move as Roy approached. The teenager knew that this was the moment that they had planned for for months, but both men also understood the momentous significance of what had just occurred. They had passed the point of no return; Lex knew the truth now, and however much they had prepared and trained they were up against a ruthless adversary who would now stop at nothing to destroy them. Lives were at stake – not just their own, but also the lives of Chloe and of Oliver's team. The young hero had been through so much, but now the burden of responsibility seemed to weigh ever more heavily on his shoulders. Roy wanted to help him, to be a support, but he knew that there were some things that Oliver could never share. Didn't people say leadership could be a lonely place? Seeing Oliver, he now knew why.

"How did it go with Luthor?" he asked, coming to a halt alongside his friend.

Oliver glanced at Roy; so wrapped up was he in the images on the screens in front of him, he hadn't realised until now that the teenager had returned to base.

"Good," he replied, nodding his head slightly. "But Lex knows I'm back now – we're going to have to move fast if we're to get to Chloe and the guys in time." The intensity of Oliver's words was matched by his stern expression; after all the weeks of training, his focus was absolute.

"And did you get the intel?"

"Emil is decoding it now. Once we get a fix on where Lex is holding Chloe and the guys we'll move straight to Phase 2 of the operation."

"You may need to think again about that, Oliver."

The two men turned. Emil was walking towards them, a file clutched under his arm.

"What have you found?" asked Oliver.

"I've decoded the files you downloaded from Luthor's computer, and I think I've located where he's holding Chloe and Clark."

Roy thought he saw a flicker of relief pass across Oliver's face. He was one step closer to being reunited with Chloe; the end of the nightmare was in sight.

"I'm afraid that's not all I found," continued Emil, his sombre expression giving a clue as to what was to come. "I've also located AC."

"And?" asked Oliver, sensing something was wrong.

"He's dying, Oliver – if Luthor's sensors are right, he's dying."

There was silence for a few seconds, each man reflecting on the sort of news that they had all been dreading.

"How long?" asked Oliver eventually, the quietness with which he spoke somehow amplifying the seriousness of the moment.

"Forty-eight hours, tops. His vital signs are fading fast – there's a chance he might not even last that long."

Oliver turned back towards the screens, obviously lost in thought. The other two men exchanged glances, and waited.

Oliver knew what he had to do – the news about AC had left him with no choice. That didn't make it any easier to bear, of course. In his mind he had always thought he would rescue Chloe first; that was what he'd planned for, what he'd dreamed about ever since he'd first come to in Emil's lab all those months before. Had he been wrong to put her first? Had he been selfish, allowing his love to cloud his judgement? At times he'd wondered, doubted his own motives, but Chloe wasn't like the guys. Sure, mentally she was as tough as they come; physically, however, it was a different story. How long would she be able to take the worst that Lex might throw at her? The thought of her suffering alone in some hellish LuthorCorp prison was unendurable, and he'd spent many a sleepless night thinking about what she might be going through. The idea of saving her had sustained him, offered him some comfort, but now it was clear that her rescue would have to be put on hold. AC needed him, and everything else, even Chloe, would have to wait.

"Roy, get your gear ready – looks like we're going on a trip," he said at last, pushing any feelings of disappointment to the back of his mind. "Emil, keep digging into those files – the more information you can give us about Lex's operations, the better chance we've got of getting Chloe and the guys back alive."

The two men nodded, each then turning to set about their tasks. Oliver was left alone with his thoughts once more. It had been an incredible day – the culmination of so much planning and preparation. He felt a mixture of emotions. There was relief – relief that at last the fight back had begun, and that he was one step closer to his dream of rescuing his friends. There was also excitement – it felt good to be wearing the costume once more, to feel the surge of adrenalin as he went into action. But he felt anxious, too – anxious that he would be too late, that he wouldn't get to AC in time. He knew more than anyone how dangerous Lex could be; now that he'd showed his hand, he understood full well that all the resources of LuthorCorp would be thrown against him. He'd grabbed the serpent by the tail – he would need every ounce of skill and guile he could muster to ensure he didn't get bitten.

He reached into the inside pocket of his tunic and pulled out the photo that he'd kept close to his heart ever since he'd regained consciousness. It was a picture of Chloe taken whilst the two of them had been vacationing together in the Caribbean, just days before both their worlds had begun to fall apart.

"Hang on, Chloe," he said quietly, staring at the smiling, carefree face of the woman who had stolen his heart. "Hang on – I'm coming."

* * *

><p>Oliver's back! He's been a shadowy presence for the last few chapters, so I thought it was high time to bring him back properly. As you can see, our heroes are now in a race against time to save AC, Chloe and the others - and you can bet that Lex isn't going to make it easy for them! Angst and action ahead - I hope you're going to enjoy the ride!<p>

Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to my wonderful reviewers - you guys are amazing! Hopefully a new chapter will appear in about a week. In the meantime please do post a review - it is always great to get some feedback.


	6. Chapter 6: The Hunters Gather

**Chapter Six: The Hunters Gather**

"What's this all about, Lex? Cos I'm telling you, man, having your apes drag me away from my girl is not cool. You're out of line, Lex – way out of line!"

Bart Allen stood in the center of Lex's study, flanked by the two guards who had been dispatched to locate him. It hadn't taken too long to find the teenager. Lex had made it his business to keep tabs on his newest employee, and a quick search of his usual haunts had found him chatting up his latest conquest in one of the seedier neighbourhoods of downtown Metropolis. Dressed in the latest designer street wear, the kid appeared angry, even aggressive; he sneered at his new paymaster, squaring up to him as if seeking a confrontation he knew he could not win.

Lex said nothing. Instead he studied the boy for a moment, searching for any sign that the rebellious teenager was hiding something. Bart and Oliver had been close; so close, in fact, that their relationship had at times resembled that of father and son. Turning Bart had given Lex particular pleasure, and he had enjoyed using the boy to effect his final revenge on his rival. Now, however, things were different. Oliver was back, and hell-bent on revenge – what if_ he'd _succeeded in turning Bart? An ally inside LuthorCorp would be very useful, and Oliver would need allies if he was to carry out his promise to destroy the Luthor name. His scientists had reassured him that the effects of Bart's treatment were irreversible, and that there was no chance of him returning to his old allegiances. Still, the stark reality of a dead man apparently cheating death made Lex wary of any so-called certainties, and he preferred to trust his own judgement rather than rely on the reassurances of others. If Bart could be trusted he could be a powerful ally in the battle to come; if he was a traitor, he wouldn't leave the room alive.

"What the hell is this, Lex?" continued Bart, his frustration at the other man's silence beginning to boil over. "You don't own me, dude – tell me what this is about or I am outta here!"

He took a couple of steps towards Lex, his anger getting the better of him. The guards reached for their guns, but Lex gestured for them to stand down; he wanted to test the boy's reaction to what he was about to tell him, and weapons being flashed around was probably not the best way to get to the truth.

"Oliver's alive."

Bart stopped dead in his tracks. In an instant his expression changed; the surly aggression disappeared, to be replaced by a look of complete shock.

"This is a joke, right?" he asked.

"No joke," replied Lex. He appeared inscrutable, his features betraying not a hint of emotion. It might have only been a few hours since Oliver's call had turned his world upside down, but he gave every appearance of being in complete control. His survival instinct was strong, and he knew that he could not afford to go to pieces. Oliver had declared war, and in this final struggle between the two men Lex had no intention of emerging as anything other than the victor.

"But how?" continued Bart. He appeared genuinely stunned; there was no hint that he had any knowledge of his former mentor's miraculous return from the dead.

"It appears the lethal injection was not as lethal as we thought," said Lex dryly, still studying the teenager's reactions closely. "Someone betrayed me – someone close to Oliver."

Silence followed, Lex's words pregnant with meaning.

"Wait, you think _I _did it?" said Bart incredulously, eventually understanding Lex's unspoken accusation. "Dude, you could not be more wrong! There's no way I would help that son-of-a-bitch – no way!"

Again Lex said nothing. He could see the beads of sweat beginning to run down Bart's face, the fear in his eyes. The boy understood that if he failed to convince the other man of his loyalty, his life was at stake; one nod from Lex, and the men behind him would put a bullet through his skull.

"Listen Lex, you've got to believe me," pleaded Bart, a hint of panic audible in his voice. "Didn't I help you get Chloe? And at Nemesis – don't you remember how I tracked down Oliver? If I wanted to save him, don't you think I would have helped him to escape then? I'm no traitor, Lex – you know that."

"You betrayed Oliver."

"But he fucked with my mind, dude! You saved me, Lex – made me see the truth. And after all you've done for me – this is crazy, just crazy!"

Bart's increasingly desperate protestations of loyalty seemed to leave the other man unmoved. Lex remained impassive, silently watching as the teenager begged to be believed. And Lex _did_ believe him, whatever doubts he might have been harbouring having been swept away by the logic of the boy's argument. The doctor had tampered with the injection at Nemesis, not Bart, and the look of surprise on his face at the news of Oliver's return from the dead had a truth about it which could not be faked. Still, Lex had enjoyed allowing his little charade to continue for a few moments, to watch as the other man squirmed. Bart's ability made him useful, but he was arrogant, full of himself; it amused Lex to watch all that street punk bravado fall away, to see the fear in his eyes. The irony of Bart's words was also not lost on Lex. It was he who had fucked with the kid's mind, not Oliver, and it gave him a kick to have the success of his "re-education" program confirmed once more.

"Just give me a chance to prove myself, Lex. I'll do anything you want – anything."

Lex smiled. "Relax, Bart," he purred, placing a reassuring hand around the boy's shoulder. "I believe you – I do! And there is something you can do for me – something very important."

"What?" asked Bart, his relief obvious. "Tell me what you want done, Lex – I won't let you down."

"That's good, Bart – that's very good. Because your next job is going to be a challenge, but one I know you're going to enjoy."

Bart grinned. He knew what was coming, and Lex's words confirmed it.

"I want you to kill Oliver for me."

* * *

><p>Lex descended carefully down the narrow flight of steps. A single bulb illuminated the stairwell, making it difficult to see where he was going, and he did not want to lose his footing and end up in a crumpled heap on the floor. The air was damp and fetid, the faded, peeling paint on the walls and threadbare carpet beneath his feet only adding to the gloomy, dismal atmosphere of the place. It was typical of the man whose services he now sought to enlist that he should chose to inhabit a basement in a building like this; Slade was nothing if he was not unorthodox.<p>

"Are you sure this is the right place? I know Slade's a psycho, but you'd have to be out of your mind to live in a shit hole like this."

Lex frowned. Bringing Bart along had seemed like a good idea, but already he was beginning to regret it; Slade didn't suffer fools gladly, and the kid's mouth could ruin everything.

"That's enough," he replied sharply. "We need Slade, remember? Let me do the talking – if I want you to speak I'll tell you."

The two of them reached the foot of the stairs, where they found themselves confronted by a steel reinforced door. To Lex's surprise it was slightly ajar, as if their arrival was expected. He pushed it open, and stepped inside.

The room was small, and if anything was even more poorly lit than the stairwell. Along the walls Lex could make out row after row of weapons, each carefully stowed away. Not only was there every conceivable type of gun, but also an array of knives and swords, as well as a range of devices that Lex could not identify. He was impressed; there was enough equipment here to start a war, which is exactly what he was now engaged in.

"Didn't think it would take you long to find me, Luthor."

Lex turned. Slade stood motionless just a couple of feet to his right, a crossbow clasped in his hands.

"You're not an easy man to track down, Slade."

"In my line of business, it pays to keep a low profile."

"I've got a job for you – a job….."

"You want me to kill Oliver Queen."

Slade's interruption left Lex speechless. Only a select group of people knew about Oliver's return – how on earth had Slade found out?

"How did you know?" he asked eventually, trying to recover his composure.

"I know everything, Luthor – remember that." Slade's cool certainty was unnerving, even to Lex; did those words carry some hidden warning?

"Then you'll know he was behind the attack on LuthorCorp," said Lex, his voice hardening. "I want him dead, Slade. I don't care how you do it – just kill him, kill him and bring me his head."

A hint of smile flashed across Slade's lips. "Looks like leather boy's got you spooked, Luthor - none of this would have happened if you'd let me deal with him my way."

"Name your price, Slade," replied Lex, ignoring the other man's jibe. "Whatever you want, I'll pay."

"I don't want your money, Luthor."

Again Lex was left momentarily speechless, wrong-footed by Slade's response.

"I don't want your money, because I never mix business with pleasure," continued Slade, holding aloft the crossbow as if to admire its craftsmanship. "And believe me, Luthor, nothing will give me greater satisfaction than to hunt down the Green Arrow. When I tracked him before he was wounded, half the man he'd once been. But now - now everything's different. He's angry, driven – more powerful than he's ever been. That may scare you, Luthor, but not me. I _want _him to be at his best – makes the hunt more of a challenge." He paused, levelling the crossbow as if aiming at some unseen target. "I will track him, snare him, and kill him. And I'll make him suffer before he dies – suffer far more than you ever did with your amateur theatrics. Torture's not a game, Luthor. It's about destroying a man, peeling away the layers until he's got nowhere left to hide. And I will peel away that pretty boy's layers, I promise you – by the time I've finished with him, hell's going to seem like paradise. He's gonna scream like a bitch, beg me to kill him, but still I won't stop. I'll take him to the edge of death a thousand times, and pull him back every single time – he'll feel pain like nothing on earth. I'm gonna break him, crush him, and then, when _I'm_ ready, I will cut his throat." Again he stopped, turning and fixing Lex with a stare of piercing, ice cold intensity. "And that's why I don't why your money, Luthor. The look in leather boy's eyes when I finally take his life - all the money in the world can't pay for a kick like that."

Nobody spoke, Lex and Bart both rendered momentarily speechless by Slade's chilling words. Lex had always considered him to be the consummate professional, the dispassionate assassin who carried out his work with cool, clinical efficiency. Now he saw something else, a side to the killer's character that was rarely glimpsed. The man was a psychopath, a sadist who got high on inflicting torment on others. What's more, it was clear that Oliver had got under his skin, perhaps more than anyone had ever done so before. Something must have happened during those hours that Oliver had spent chained up in Slade's dungeon, something which this monster could not forget. Strange as it seemed, Lex could see that Slade was glad Oliver was alive: now he would get a chance to taste the blood that previously he had been denied.

"I knew you were the right man for this job, Slade," said Lex finally, his attempt to sound business-like not quite masking the unease he felt in the other man's presence. Few people intimidated Lex Luthor, but Slade was the exception; he felt relieved that it was Oliver, and not himself, who was to be the focus of the assassin's wrath.

"When I'm done, I'll bring you his head," said Slade, picking up a large knife and sliding it into its sheath. "Just stay out of my way, Luthor – this time we do things my way."

"There's one more thing," said Lex, trying to keep his nerves under control. "I want you to take the kid here along with you."

Slade glanced at Bart, contempt in his eyes.

"I work alone, Luthor – you know that."

"Bart was on Oliver's team – he could prove very useful to you," continued Lex, deploying all his powers of persuasion. "And the boy has abilities, as you may recall."

"I remember."

"I can help you, Slade," added Bart, stepping forward. "I know how Oliver's mind works. I can help you catch him – just give me a chance."

Slade paused, clearly weighing up the possible advantages of having a former member of the JLA as an ally. Whatever "treatment" Lex's scientists had subjected the boy to, it seemed to have worked; Bart appeared to have no recollection of how Slade had captured and tortured him just five months earlier. His knowledge of how Queen operated might indeed be useful, and there was always the possibility that his speed might be helpful in the hunt to come…

"Okay, the kid can come," said Slade eventually. "But you'd better stay out of my way, boy – one mistake, and it won't just be Queen who comes home in a body bag."

Bart blanched, Slade's warning wiping the smile from his face.

"That's settled then," said Lex quickly. "All the resources of LuthorCorp are at your disposal, Slade – I've already put all of my facilities on maximum alert for another attack, and my men are out searching for Oliver's hideout. When can you start?"

"I've already started," replied the other man. "And don't bother searching for Queen's hideout – there's no need."

"Why?"

"Because I know exactly where leather boy's heading next – and I'm gonna be waiting for him."

* * *

><p>Slade and Bart versus Ollie and Roy - get ready for some serious action! I know that some of you were expecting a change of pace in this chapter, but I felt it was important to take some time to bring in Bart and Slade, and to set up what's to come in the next few chapters. The next chapter is full of action, I promise - stand by for plenty of twists, and of course a good dose of angst!<p>

Sorry this chapter has appeared later than I originally intended. However, the good news is that the next one is nearly done, so that should definitely appear next week. Thanks so much for all the support, especially from my amazing reviewers. Please do post some feedback if you can - it really does inspire me!


	7. Chapter 7: Out of the Frying Pan

**Chapter Seven: Out of the Frying Pan...**

It was just after nine in the evening when they arrived at their destination, about fifteen miles south of Nassau in the Bahamas. They'd left Metropolis within an hour of Emil's grim intelligence about AC's condition, Oliver piloting his jet from a private airstrip just outside the city straight to the island's airport. Once again the secret bank accounts that Oliver had kept open in case of emergency had more than proved their worth, and it was this seemingly limitless source of cash that ensured that a boat was waiting for them on the quayside when they arrived, kitted out with all the equipment needed for their mission. Roy had taken the wheel as they made their way to where Emil's intel indicated that AC was imprisoned, Oliver using the time to prepare for the dive to come. He not only had to bring his friend to the surface, but he also had to be ready for the possibility of a welcoming party; now that Lex knew he was alive, it seemed reasonable to expect that security would have been stepped up around the remaining members of the Justice League.

So far their luck seemed to be holding. There were no boats waiting for them at the location, and satellite tracking indicated that there were none within a five mile radius. They were quite alone, and as Oliver prepared to make his dive he wondered if Lex had figured out he'd downloaded files from the LuthorCorp system before he'd torched the building. Perhaps his luck really had turned for the better; certainly the clear, warm evening air made it seem so. The sun was just setting, the reds, oranges and yellows lighting up the sky and creating a truly beautiful sight. The sea was still, and the only sound that could be heard was the waves lapping gently against the side of the boat. A more tranquil sight could not be imagined, but Oliver was barely conscious of it. His mind was filled with thoughts of AC, trapped and alone on the sea bed below. He could still recall vividly the grainy image of his friend that Lex had shown him five months earlier, the terror in his eyes as he faced the almost unimaginable horror of being entombed alive. Oliver had known the full force of Lex's evil, but he had never had to face it alone. He had always had the consolation of human contact; indeed, in Roy he had found a true friend, even in the hell of Nemesis. AC had been denied all that. He had had to face these last five months alone, every day losing a little more hope as slowly his life-force ebbed away. Oliver could not bear to think about what he had suffered, and if now they were too late….. even the thought made him sick with fear.

Oliver slipped into his wetsuit, reaching down behind his back and pulling the cord to zip himself up. He'd had the suit made about a year or so earlier, designed to his exact specifications for missions at sea. He was relieved to find it was still a perfect fit, hugging his body like a second skin. All the hours he'd spent working out in the gym to rebuild his physical strength had paid off; lean, muscular and powerful, he had never been in better shape. Glancing in the mirror as he made his way out on deck, he caught sight of the arrow he'd had printed on the front of the suit, stretched taut across his chest. He smiled. He and AC had laughed about that arrow, the younger man, always ready with a wisecrack, joking about the usefulness of archery underwater. Happy times – times he prayed they would experience again.

On deck Roy stood waiting with Oliver's scuba gear. Efficiently the two men began to make final preparations for the dive, strapping the tank of air to Oliver's back and completing final checks on the equipment.

"Keep watch on the scanners – Lex's men could show up at any time," warned Oliver, adjusting the cylinder so that it rested at the right point on his back.

"Trust me, Oliver – I won't take my eyes off that screen for a second."

"And have Emil's kit ready – who knows what condition AC will be in, so I want those drugs here the moment we break the surface."

"Already done – the kit's just here," replied Roy, nodding towards a bag lying on the deck a couple of feet away.

Oliver nodded, the briefest of smiles appearing momentarily on his lips. He was tense, and it showed; he knew that he could trust Roy completely to carry out his part of the operation, but that didn't stop him wanting to check just one last time.

"Sorry, kid," he said. "It's just I can't leave anything to chance – not when…"

"Don't worry," interrupted Roy. "I understand."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. They had not known each other long, but already they had shared a lifetime's worth of experiences together. Each had saved the other's life more than once, and that had forged an unspoken bond as strong as any which Oliver enjoyed with any other member of his team. Both knew that in the hours and days ahead that bond would be tested once more, perhaps more than it had ever been tested before. They didn't care; theirs was a friendship that nothing could break.

Oliver said nothing – no more words were needed. He nodded once to the other man, and then stepped over to the edge of the boat. Fixing his mask and mouthpiece in place, he gave a thumbs up sign, and then dropped backwards into the water.

The water was warm, and as Oliver began to dive downwards away from the surface he felt himself being enveloped by the calm, silent world of the ocean. This was AC's world, of course, and as he swam deeper and deeper his thoughts once again turned to the young hero whose life now hung in the balance. Oliver was a strong swimmer, but even with the latest in scuba gear he was clumsy and slow compared to his friend. AC was in his element here, moving through the water with the grace and power of one born to live in the oceans. How cruel it was, then, how typical of Lex's twisted sense of humour, that he should condemn AC to a long, lingering death just inches from the water that was his lifeblood. The thought filled Oliver with a silent rage; beneath his mask he gritted his teeth, and not for the first time swore vengeance on the man who had done so much harm to those he loved.

After a minute or so visibility began to deteriorate, as Oliver moved further and further from the surface. However, the powerful flashlight he held in his right hand was more than enough to compensate, and fifteen seconds later the seabed finally appeared in front of him.

"_The pod should be to your right, about twenty yards," _said Roy, his voice crackling in Oliver's earpiece; he'd been monitoring his descent, and now had the task of guiding his mentor to where the intel indicated AC was located.

Oliver swam towards his target, praying as he did so that the information they'd decoded from LuthorCorp was right, and that they were not too late. His heart leapt into his mouth when, a few seconds later, the shape of the pod emerged out of the murk in front of him. Instinctively he swam a little faster; success was so close now, and he couldn't bear to lose second. As he got closer the features of the pod became clearer, and he could make out the outline of a door, a small glass porthole towards its top. Adrenalin pumping, he approached, hoping against hope…

_No….. Oh God, no…_

The pod was empty.

Oliver stared for a moment, wrestling with the feelings of disappointment and despair that swept over him like a tide. He had been so sure of himself, so sure that he was going to save his friend – to find AC gone was devastating, a crushing blow that hit him like a hammer blow to the gut. AC had been here, there was no doubt about that; Oliver could see the leather straps that had held his friend in captivity in this hellish prison. Where was he? He hadn't escaped, Oliver was sure of that. No, the more sinister explanation was also the more likely: AC had been moved, and that could mean only one thing:

Lex had been expecting him.

"_Arrow, you've got company." _Roy spoke quickly, urgently; immediately Oliver knew that danger was imminent. _"Four hostiles, approaching fast to your left."_

Oliver turned. There, approaching fast out of the gloom, were four divers. Each had a light strapped to their forehead, and in an instant all four beams were focused on his position. Blinded, Oliver's instincts took over. He propelled himself backwards, just in time to see two harpoon bolts impact the pod at the exact point where he had been less than a second earlier. Immediately he let go of the flashlight; there was some safety in the darkness, and the light was like having a target printed on his chest. He began to swim away from the pod, powering through the water with all the strength he could muster. To his horror, he saw three more lights up ahead of him, cutting off his escape route. Sensing they had him in their sights, he spun round in the water, diving off to his right. This time he wasn't quick enough; one bolt missed him, but the other grazed his left arm, slicing through the neoprene of his suit and causing a stream of blood to begin to seep out into the water.

Escape was impossible – he needed to fight.

He reached for his utility belt, withdrawing what appeared to be a small tube. One press of a button and a miniature harpoon appeared – one of the weapons Oliver had had custom made to go with the suit. He took aim, his attackers not as quick to realise that their lights made easy targets, and within the space of a couple of seconds he'd taken out two of the advancing divers. He then swam abruptly to the right, avoiding a second flurry of harpoon bolts. The remaining diver from the second group had anticipated his move, however; he mirrored Oliver's manoeuvre, and in an instant was on top of him. Oliver saw the glint of a knife, and spun out of the way just in time to avoid the first thrust of the blade. The man didn't give up, but pressed home his attack. Oliver could not escape, and was forced to defend himself as the two men began to grapple with each other in a desperate fight for survival. The harpoon fell from Oliver's hand, but there was no time to retrieve it; all his energies were devoted to holding the other man off, as the two twisted and spiralled through the water in a blizzard of thrashing and kicking. Through the cloud of bubbles Oliver could see that the knife was just inches away from his heart. The man was strong, perhaps stronger than he was, and he knew that if he didn't think of something quickly he would be in mortal peril. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pod. Acting on instinct, he used all of the strength he could muster to propel himself towards it, taking his would-be assassin with him. Timing his moment to perfection, he turned just as the two collided with the heavy steel structure, swinging the other man so that he took the full force of the impact. Stunned, the knife fell from his hand. Oliver then hauled him forwards, twisting his body rightwards just in time for it to take the full force of three harpoon bolts fired by the other group of divers. Death was instantaneous, and Oliver immediately released the dead weight of his makeshift human shield before kicking out and making for the surface.

Oliver swam at great speed, slicing through the water like a dolphin as he tried to put distance between himself and the remaining members of Lex's hit squad. For a few seconds he thought he'd made it, until suddenly he felt something wrap itself around his arms and torso. He looked down, to find that his entire upper body was encircled by some type of wire. His arms were pinioned to his sides, and as he struggled to free himself he felt the wire begin to tighten. He'd been snared by some sort of trap, and to his horror he felt himself being pulled back down towards the sea bed, and the men who were waiting to kill him.

Oliver pulled desperately at his bonds, but the more he struggled the tighter the wire seemed to become. It sliced into his wetsuit, trapping him like some metallic anaconda and pulling him inexorably downwards to his fate. Oliver tried to think, to come up with some means of escape, but there was none; without the use of his arms he was powerless. All too quickly he felt hands grabbing his feet and arms, and seconds later he found himself anchored firmly between two of the remaining divers.

Like a fish caught on a line, they'd reeled him in – what would they do now?

The answer came almost immediately. Straight ahead of him, Oliver saw a third diver swim into position, aiming his harpoon directly at his head. Again, Oliver acted on instinct. He pushed himself to the right, catching his captors off guard. It was too late to stop the bolt being fired, but again it missed its target, instead hitting one of the divers straight between the eyes. This was Oliver's chance. Taking advantage of the moment, he managed to slip out of the other man's grasp. He then reached downwards, straining with his fingertips to find the canister that he knew was still strapped to his left leg. He found it, pressing its release button just as the man with the harpoon was taking aim for a second shot. Suddenly the water was filled with clouds of billowing black smoke, the perfect camouflage to hide Oliver's escape. He dived down to the seabed, trying to relax as he did so. He hoped that this would help to loosen the wire that still held him tight, and he was right; as soon as his muscles relaxed he felt his bonds begin to give a little. Slowly, painfully slowly, he began carefully to untangle himself, all the time aware of the killers who were swimming just a few feet above him, searching blindly for their prey in the fog created by the smoke canister.

It must have taken thirty seconds or more for Oliver finally to free himself. It came not a moment too soon, as above him the smoke from the canister was beginning to clear. To his left he saw the corpse of one his captors. Without hesitation, he made a grab for the body, pulling the harpoon from his hands. As he did so, a bolt sliced into the dead man's flesh. Realising he'd been found, Oliver dived away to the left, turning and taking aim with the harpoon as he did so. He fired, finding his mark; another of Lex's team suddenly hung lifeless in the water. Sensing the advantage was now his, Oliver scanned the water around him, looking for another of the remaining men. He found one, and a second later he too was floating dead just a few feet away.

Six down – only one remained. Suddenly Oliver sensed movement behind him. Too late he realised he'd allowed the other man to position himself for a surprise attack. He felt a stinging blow to the head, almost certainly the result of being hit by a rock. Dazed, he was aware of the harpoon being wrenched from his grip, and then a hand pulling his breathing apparatus from his mouth. Just in time he realised the danger, holding his breath to avoiding filling his lungs with water. Big hands then grabbed him round the throat, pushing him downwards onto the sea floor. The man was trying to strangle him, his face contorted with anger as he squeezed harder and harder on Oliver's windpipe. The pain was excruciating. Oliver felt his lungs burning, crying out for oxygen. Frantically he clawed at the man's face, trying to force him to weaken his hold. It was no use; his grip was vice-like, and he had no intention of letting go.

Oliver realised that time was running out. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the harpoon, lying on the sea bed just out of reach. The man seemed to sense what was in Oliver's mind. He lifted him up by the neck, before smashing him down a foot or so further away to the right, putting the harpoon well beyond his grasp. Oliver battled the feeling of panic that was welling up inside him; if he lost it now, this really would be the end. He knew he had one last card to play, one final chance to escape what now appeared to be the inevitable. He felt down his right thigh, praying that the small knife he'd strapped there was still in place. For a moment he could not find it, but then his fingers felt the top of its handle. He grabbed it, pulling it from its sheath and plunging it straight into the man's neck. Taken completely by surprise, he had no chance; the blade severed his carotid artery, blood gushing from the wound and staining the water an inky red. Showing no mercy, Oliver pulled the breathing apparatus from the dying man's mouth, taking some gulps of much needed air just as the other man breathed his last. He then kicked for the surface, leaving the empty pod and the bodies of Lex's assassins to the depths.

Oliver's broke the surface with a gasp, filling his lungs with the warm, clear evening air. Immediately his eyes were everywhere, searching for any sign that Lex's welcoming party had not come alone. There was none; the sea appeared empty, save for his own boat floating gently just a few feet away. Relieved that the danger was past, he suddenly felt very tired. The fight had taken it out of him, and as he dragged himself out of the water and onto the deck his limbs felt heavy and sore. Glad to be able to remove his scuba gear, he stood for a moment, the moonlight catching the drops of water as they ran down his face. He may have survived his encounter with Lex's hitmen, but that didn't alter the fact that the mission had been a failure. He hadn't succeeded in rescuing his friend, and for all he knew AC might already be dead. From a standing start, Lex had caught up fast, and he and Roy were going to have to work hard if they were going to stand any chance of staying one step ahead.

_Roy….Where's Roy….?_

Oliver tensed, his senses alert to the slightest movement. He would have expected Roy to have greeted him, but there was no sign of his friend. Instead the boat was eerily quiet, the stillness disturbed only by the sound of the water lapping against its sides. Instinct told Oliver something was badly wrong. He looked around for a weapon, his eyes immediately falling on one of the spare harpoons he'd left behind during the dive. Silently he picked it up, before cautiously making his way towards the cabin door.

"Roy, are you in there?" he shouted, standing to one side of the door in case his question should be greeted by a hail of bullets from an assassin waiting for his arrival. There was no reply. Beginning to fear the worst, that Roy had been kidnapped or even killed, he reached out for the door handle, grasping it firmly in his hand…

Suddenly he flung open the door and dashed inside, the harpoon outstretched in front of him and ready to fire at a spilt second's notice. The sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks. There, standing in the center of the room, was Roy, his hands bound behind his back and a strip of duct tape smeared across his mouth. Next to him, and holding the barrel of a gun against the teenager's head, stood Bart, grinning broadly.

"Welcome to the party, Ollie," he sneered. "What took you so long?"

* * *

><p>Well, you knew it wasn't going to be easy, right? I enjoyed writing this one - probably the most action I've ever written in a single chapter, plenty of Ollie kicking ass, and a twist in the tail. Big trouble ahead for our heroes - just how big, you'll have to wait and see...<p>

Thanks for reading, and as always a HUGE thankyou to my wonderful reviewers - you are amazing! Please do post some feedback if you can, as it is always great to hear what you're thinking.


	8. Chapter 8: Shark Bait

**Chapter Eight: Shark Bait**

"Welcome to the party, Oliver – what took you so long?"

Oliver didn't move. The harpoon in his hand was pointing straight at Bart's head, but the other man didn't bat an eyelid; Oliver was behaving just as he'd expected, and he knew that this encounter was only going to end one way.

"What, no "hi Bart, how's it going"?" he continued, staring at his former mentor. Supremely confident, he sounded almost amused, his laid back attitude in marked contrast to the scowling man who now confronted him.

"Let him go, Bart," demanded Oliver. "Let him go, or I'll shoot!"

"But Roy and I were just getting acquainted, weren't we Roy?" replied Bart, pressing the muzzle of the gun hard into the side of Roy's head. "We've got a lot in common, you know that? Two sidekicks, sharing stories of how….."

"Let him go!" interrupted Oliver, taking a step towards Bart.

"Relax, Ollie! You and I both know you won't shoot, so let's drop the hero act, yeah? Even if you did want to take me out, there's no way you could do it before I put a bullet in junior's skull here, and I'm guessing that holier than thou code you live by isn't gonna let you do that, is it?"

Oliver did not reply. He knew Bart was right – he was cornered, and they both knew it.

Roy's eyes widened, anticipating what Oliver was about to do. He shook his head, but his muffled pleas for his friend to think again fell on deaf ears. Acknowledging defeat, Oliver let go of the harpoon, the weapon clattering noisily to the floor.

"Wise move, Ollie," said Bart, his grin widening. "Now put your hands up."

Slowly, Oliver did as he was told. He glanced across at Roy, for the first time taking the opportunity to check out his friend. Blood was oozing from a wound in his skull, presumably the result of a blow from some kind of blunt instrument, but apart from that he appeared to be in good shape. The two men's eyes met. There was no need for words; both understood the danger they faced, but also the opportunity that Bart's presence on the boat alone presented for possible escape….

"You know I gotta give you credit, Ollie – this whole back from the dead thing, it's really got Lex spooked," said Bart, his confidence growing now that the other man was disarmed. "But I gotta tell you, if it had been me, I'd have stayed dead – what Slade's got planned for you, it's gonna make Nemesis look like a walk in the park."

_Slade. _Oliver wasn't surprised to hear the man's name – as soon as he'd revealed the truth of his survival to Lex it was always likely that he would enlist the services of his hired killer. Still, the memory of the hours he'd spent chained up in Slade's dungeon sent a shiver down his spine. The man was a monster, a beast who had come so close to breaking him – did he really have the strength to go through all that again?

"He'd be here to say hello himself, only he's had to go on ahead – get things ready for our arrival," continued Bart. "He can't wait to see you, Ollie. I think he's kinda glad you got out of Nemesis – gives him a chance to fuck you up all over again."

"Where's AC?" demanded Oliver, ignoring the other man's attempts to get under his skin.

"Fish face? Oh, Slade's got him," replied Bart. "Dude, I gotta tell you, he does_ not _look good. All those months in that pod – man, he's so dried up and shrivelled I barely knew him!"

Oliver gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. To hear of the plight of his friend was bad enough, but to hear it from the mouth of Bart, casually savouring his former teammate's torment – it was too much to bear.

"Slade knew you'd try to rescue him first," explained Bart. "You make it too easy, Oliver! Me, I'd have let fish face die, but not you – you and junior here just had to play the heroes, didn't you?"

"You'd have tried to save him once, Bart – before Lex got to you and messed with your head."

Bart rolled his eyes. "Aww, dude, not that shit again! _You're _the one who messed with my head, Ollie – not Lex, you. So don't try to talk your way out of this – you know it won't work."

Oliver knew Bart was right – Bart was too far gone for him to talk him round. The only way he was going to save himself and Roy was to take Bart out – all he needed was an opportunity…..

"Now turn around – and keep your hands where I can see them."

Slowly, Oliver again did as he was told. He sensed that time was running out, and that if he was to make his move he would have to make it fast. On a shelf he spotted a flashlight, large enough to be used as a weapon. It was risky, but when there weren't any other options…..

"I gotta tie you up, Ollie – Slade would never forgive me if I didn't deliver you all safe and sound."

This was it. Oliver sensed Bart moving behind him, presumably preparing to bind his hands. Hoping his calculations were right, he made a grab for the flashlight, simultaneously spinning round and swinging it in the direction of where he believed Bart would be standing. He'd wanted to deliver a knockout blow, but instead succeeded in sending Bart's gun flying across the cabin. Both men lunged for it, but Bart was quicker; grabbing the weapon he brought it crashing down on Oliver's head, sending the young hero crashing to the floor.

"That's right, Ollie, you make it fun for me!" he shouted, pumped up with adrenalin. "Make it fun for me, you fucking – piece – of – shit!"

Each of the last four words was accompanied by a kick to Oliver's gut, Bart apparently glad to have an excuse to vent his hatred of his former friend. Oliver groaned; barely conscious, he was unable to shield himself from the savagery of the teenager's attack.

"Don't get any ideas, junior!" said Bart, aware of Roy moving towards the cabin door. He pointed the gun at his head, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Now be a good little sidekick and stay the fuck where you are, okay?"

Satisfied that Roy would give him no trouble, Bart set about dealing with Oliver. Expertly he flipped him onto his stomach, before pulling his hands together in the small of his back and binding his wrists with some plasticuffs. He then did the same to Oliver's ankles, rendering the young hero immobile and helpless.

"That's Ollie sorted – guess that just leaves you," said Bart, turning to Roy. He paused, a malicious grin forming on his lips. "Let's take a walk, junior – move!"

A wave of the gun indicated that Roy was to step out on deck. Reluctantly, he did as he was told, glancing down at Oliver's unmoving form as he stepped out into the evening air. Bart was right behind him, the gun in his hand.

"Over there!" ordered Bart, pointing with the gun to the side of boat. Fearing where this was leading, Roy didn't move; despite being bound and gagged he stood his ground, as if daring Bart to do his worst.

"I said, over there!" repeated Bart, pushing Roy backwards. The teenager stumbled, falling awkwardly to the deck. Barely had he time to recover when he realised that Bart was attaching a chain to his right ankle. His eyes widened, his worst fears confirmed….

"I like you, junior – I really do," said Bart, tugging at the chain to make sure it was fixed securely. "But Slade and Lex – they're only interested in Ollie. And anyway, there's only room on this boat for one sidekick, and dude – it's not you."

He grabbed Roy and hauled him onto the edge of the boat. Roy began to struggle, before Bart slapped him hard across the face.

"Chill, man! You wanna be a hero? Then you gotta learn how to die like one."

Without hesitation, he then pushed Roy backwards. The teenager lost his balance and toppled over, hitting the water with a loud splash. He floated for a moment, his head bobbing just above the water as he gasped for air. Then the chain did its work. The fifteen feet of steel unravelled like a snake, following Roy into the water and dragging him down beneath the surface. In a couple of seconds he was gone, the water closing over his head as if he had never existed.

Bart turned and returned to the cabin. Stepping inside, he found that Oliver had come round, and was glaring up at him.

"Where's Roy?" he demanded, realising that his friend was missing. "What have you done with him?"

"Ollie, I didn't touch him – I swear!" said Bart, the grin on his face telling a different story. "Shame he's not a great swimmer, but hey – life's a bitch!"

Ashen-faced, Oliver looked from Bart to the door and then back again. He couldn't believe that Roy was gone; not like this – not after all they'd been through.

"Please, Bart, it's me you want. Roy's innocent – he's…"

"Save it, Ollie," interrupted Bart. "Junior's shark bait – nothing you can do to save him now."

Something snapped inside Oliver. Letting out a guttural roar of anger, he began to pull frantically at his bonds, rolling from side to side in a desperate attempt to free himself. His only thought was to save Roy, and nothing else mattered. They could beat him, torture him, humiliate him, kill him, but he had to save his friend. He couldn't stand to lose anyone else – not when they'd come so far. He could not endure it – he would not endure it!

Bart laughed. It was a cruel, heartless laugh - the laugh of a killer. He was enjoying himself, and this was just the beginning.

He allowed Oliver to struggle for twenty seconds or more, standing as the young hero exhausted himself in his futile attempt to win his freedom. He then squatted down next to Oliver, wrapping his arm around his neck and pulling him close.

"Relax, Ollie, relax!" he said, increasing the pressure on Oliver's neck. "You need to save your strength, dude – what Slade's got planned, you're gonna need it!"

"You'll pay for this!" gasped Oliver. "You, Lex, Slade – I swear, I'll make you….."

He didn't get chance to complete the sentence. Bart pulled a rag from his pocket, clamping it firmly down over Oliver's mouth and nostrils. Immediately Oliver recognised the distinctive smell of chloroform. He struggled, but it was too late; within seconds his eyelids flickered, and everything went black.

"Sweet dreams, Ollie," said Bart, slowly removing the rag from Oliver's face. "Because when you wake up – then the fun really starts."

* * *

><p>Is this the end for Roy? Could be...<p>

You knew that things weren't going to go smoothly for our heroes - well, this is just the beginning! Lots of twists and shocks to come, I promise. And for those who are worried about Clark and Chloe, they will be back - in fact, they will play a very big role in the second half of the story.

Thanks for reading, and waiting so patiently for updates. As always, an extra special thanks to my reviewers, who keep me going - do post a review if you can, as feedback = happy writer!


	9. Chapter 9: The Challenge

**Chapter Nine: The Challenge**

The first thing Oliver was aware of as he came to was the heat. It was stifling, sucking all the air out of his surroundings and making it difficult to breathe. For a few moments he hovered in that realm which lay somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, his head pounding as he struggled to overcome the after-effects of the chloroform which had been used to knock him out. Then, suddenly, he was awake, gasping in the airless chamber that was now his prison.

Where was he? One thing was certain – he was no longer on the boat. Nor, indeed, was he still at sea – the absence of any movement confirmed that. Opening his eyes, he found that he was in a small, featureless cell. A steel door dominated one wall, whilst opposite, high up and deliberately out of reach, was a tiny window. It was not glazed, but three metal bars made any escape impossible. Listening, Oliver could hear the sound of birdsong, but nothing more. There were no cars, no planes, none of the familiar sounds of a city. Wherever he was, it was isolated – grimly, Oliver realised that there would be no witnesses to whatever they had planned for him.

His muscles aching, he rolled over onto his side. It was then that he made a startling discovery – he was naked. At some point he'd been stripped, but he had no idea when. In fact, he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. The last thing he could remember was lying on the floor of the cabin, struggling against his bonds as Bart stood over him, laughing. It was then he remembered Roy –_ oh, God, Roy_! Oliver felt guilty that he'd been awake even a few seconds without recalling the fate of his young sidekick. Was he dead? He was certain he'd not heard the sound of a gun being fired, but if Bart had pushed him overboard….

He prayed that somehow the kid had managed to survive, that he'd found a way to cheat death yet again. Maybe he'd managed to untie himself, been picked up by a passing boat – Roy was lucky, after all. He clung to that thought, the possibility of a miracle – the alternative was too terrible to contemplate.

Suddenly a scream shattered the silence. It was a terrifying sound, the sound of a man crying out in agony as he endured some unseen torment. Oliver shuddered, a knot of fear tightening in his gut. He knew what that scream meant – it meant Slade was here, and that already he had some innocent in his clutches. Roy? No, it wasn't Roy – it didn't sound like him, and besides, Bart had made it clear that Slade had no use for the teenager. Oliver knew instinctively who was the author of that fearful sound, and it filled him with a mixture of relief and terror:

_AC!_

His friend was alive – AC was alive! A second scream pierced the stillness of the cell, so raw and visceral it seemed to cut right through him. What was Slade doing to him? The man was capable of anything, he knew that – it was unbearable to think of AC helpless and at his mercy. After all he'd been through, to be tortured by that monster…..

Another scream, even more nerve shredding than the last. It was too much for Oliver. Unable to stand it any longer, he pulled himself to his feet and stepped over to the door.

"Slade, it's me you want! Leave him alone, you sick fuck – leave him alone!" he shouted, banging his fist against the heavy steel with every ounce of strength he could muster. He didn't care that he was risking his own safety - at that moment all that mattered was AC, and saving him from the psychopath who now held him in his thrall.

"Open this door, damn you! Open this door!"

A few seconds later and Oliver heard a key turn in the lock. He stepped back, just as the door began to open; moments later he found himself facing Bart, a twisted grin once again on his face.

"Where's Slade? What's he doing to AC?" demanded Oliver, barely able to restrain himself.

"AC's just fine – he's been keeping Slade company while we've been waiting for you to finish your beauty sleep," sneered Bart. "Now get dressed – Slade's waiting."

He threw a bag at Oliver, who caught it instinctively. Looking inside, Oliver recognised the familiar green leather of his costume; presumably Bart must have discovered it on the boat whilst he was unconscious.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Bart. "Suit up, unless you want fish face to cry like a bitch again."

Bart's callous order left Oliver with no choice. Reluctantly, he began to pull on his costume under the teenager's watchful gaze, all too aware that he was being forced to assume the persona of his alter ego for a reason. Whatever Slade had planned, it involved the Green Arrow – not Oliver Queen.

"I gotta tell you, Ollie, we might have had the abilities, but that costume of yours – it sure kicks some ass," said Bart. Oliver didn't reply, instead trying to focus his mind on the challenge to come. Slade was a formidable opponent, probably the most formidable he'd ever faced. Not only was he physically stronger than any other human being he'd ever encountered, but he was also fiercely intelligent. It was a potentially lethal combination, and Oliver knew that if he was to save both himself and AC he would have to be alert to even the merest hint of an opportunity for escape – knowing Slade, such opportunities would be rare, if they appeared at all.

As Oliver finished donning his costume Bart took a step forward, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.

"Turn around," he ordered. Oliver did as he was told, and immediately felt his hands being grabbed and forced into the small of his back. He felt the touch of metal to his wrists, and then the cuffs were locked in place. He was a prisoner – at least for now.

"Move!" said Bart, gesturing with his gun. Oliver turned; bracing himself, he stepped out of the cell.

The corridor beyond was dimly lit, the heat even more oppressive than back in the cell. A shove to his back made it clear that Oliver was to walk forwards, and ahead of him he saw an open door. His heartbeat quickened as he approached it; he didn't know for sure what lay beyond, but he feared the worst….

What greeted him when he stepped through the doorway was like a scene plucked straight from the pages of Dante's Inferno. The paraphernalia of torture lay all around. Manacles, Knives, whips, electric stun guns, clubs – these and countless other items designed to inflict pain and misery were scattered across the floor. Oliver barely noticed them – nor, indeed, did he see the heavy steel frame, the same frame on which he been tortured by Slade five months earlier. Instead he was transfixed by what he saw just a few feet in front of him, a sight so shocking it brought a gasp of horror to his lips. AC hung upside down in the center of the room, suspended like a slab of meat in an abattoir about five feet off the ground. His feet were shackled together and chained to a hook in the ceiling, his arms tied tightly to his sides. Horrifically, the young hero was bound not with rope or chains, but with barbed wire. Strand after strand of it had been wrapped around his naked torso, slicing mercilessly into his once powerful frame. Blood oozed from dozens of wounds, but that was not the worst of it; large black burn marks also scared his chest and upper arms, the result, no doubt, of one of Slade's more sadistic torments. All this, and still AC's suffering was not complete. Oliver knew how much his friend needed water, and he had seen first-hand the devastating consequences of keeping him away from its life-giving properties for too long. Forced to endure a living death in that pod, it had been five months since AC had last taken a drink, and the effects of such a prolonged period of dehydration on the young man's body had been little short of catastrophic. He was hideously disfigured; had it not been for the spandex pants which clung to his legs, Oliver would barely have recognised him. His skin appeared shrunken, desiccated, with great flaps of it hanging grotesquely from his bones. A stranger would never have guessed that this was the body of a man in his early twenties, a man who until recently had been the embodiment of physical strength and vitality. Nothing of the old AC remained – he had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, little more than a tortured, dried-out husk.

That wasn't quite true – something of the old AC _did_ remain. Oliver saw it in his friend's eyes, eyes which now stared at him across the room. It was the man's spirit, still blazing brightly, despite everything that he had endured. AC couldn't speak – strips of duct tape wrapped tightly around his head saw to that – but those sparkling eyes spoke volumes. An inner strength burned fiercely there, a strength born of courage and hope. It was a sight that brought a lump to Oliver's throat. Here, in this vision of hell, Arthur Curry was still alive, and still fighting.

Now it was Oliver's turn.

"And here he is – the Green Arrow, back from the dead."

Slade stepped from the shadows, a large metallic prod clasped in his right hand. The sight of him was enough to send a shiver down Oliver's spine. He and AC were big guys, but they looked like pygmies in comparison to the man who now held their fate in his hands. Slade towered over them, well over seven feet tall. He appeared to be the very personification of physical power, enormous muscles honed by hours of relentless training. But there was far more to Slade than simple strength, as Oliver knew to his cost. The man who now stood before him was possessed of a powerful intelligence, so much so that he was probably the equal to Lex Luthor. Had he chosen a different path, he would have been an exceptional recruit to the Justice League. As it was, he was certainly the most terrifying adversary that Oliver had ever had to face. To save both himself and AC, he would have to defeat this monster – how he would achieve that, he had no idea.

"The half dolphin here has been waiting for you to join us – ain't that right, fish boy?"

Slade thrust the prod into AC's chest. The young hero's body spasmed, contorted in agony as 50 000 volts of electricity crackled obscenely into his defenceless frame. Slade held the prod in place for what seemed like an age, enjoying the helplessness of his captive. Oliver moved to help his friend, but the press of a gun against his head warned him to stay still; Bart was still behind him, a willing collaborator in Slade's twisted show of strength. There was nothing he could do – Slade was in complete control.

"He would say hello, but I had to gag him," said Slade, still pressing the prod into AC's flesh. "Screams like a bitch, don't you boy?"

"Stop, damn you – you'll kill him!" said Oliver, unable to take his eyes from the terrible spectacle that was playing out in front of him.

"You think? Maybe you're right, Queen – after all, he's not as tough as the mighty Green Arrow, is he?"

Satisfied that his point was made, Slade withdrew the prod. He then grabbed AC's head, yanking it upwards by the hair so that it was level with his own.

"Fun's over, blondie. But don't worry, when I've finished playing with your boss there, I'll be back."

AC didn't respond. Slade's brutal assault had rendered him unconscious, and he showed no sign of life as his torturer let his head fall.

"You have to hand it to Luthor – when it comes to fucking up your band of freaks, he really went to town," continued Slade, placing the prod on a nearby table. "A drug to paralyse surf boy, so that he dies a slow death just inches from the water that could save him – what sort of a mind comes up with that, Queen?"

Oliver said nothing, his eyes still fixed on his stricken friend.

"But it's been good to see blondie again – I'd forgotten just how much fun it is to hurt him. Lex helped me revive him with another one of his wonderdrugs. Not too much, of course – just enough so that he can feel the pain."

He turned and stared at Oliver, a predator coldly assessing his next kill.

"And now it's your turn, leather boy," he said quietly. "Are you ready to play, Green Arrow?"

Oliver swallowed hard. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead, and his mouth suddenly felt dry with fear; what sadistic game did this animal have planned for him?

Slowly Slade walked towards him, the sound of his boots making contact with the ground like some ominous countdown. He came to a halt immediately in front of Oliver, his face just inches from his prey. The two men stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, Oliver determined to show no fear as his captor searched intently for any sign of weakness.

"You are a brave man, Queen – perhaps the bravest I've ever fought," said Slade eventually, his eyes still boring into Oliver's. "That's why I'm going to give you a chance – a chance to earn yourself and blondie a quick death."

Puzzled, a look of uncertainty flashed across Oliver's face. What did Slade mean?

"I know you think I'm just a hired killer," he continued, taking a step back. "But I have a code – a set of rules. You've earned your chance."

"Cut the crap, Slade," replied Oliver, relieved that there was no trace of the fear he felt inside in his words. "What the hell do you want?"

Slade smiled. "What do I want? I want to hunt you, Mr Queen – I want to hunt you down and kill you."

There was silence for a moment, the meaning of Slade's words hanging heavy in the air. Oliver understood everything now. Why he was still alive, why he'd been made to put on his costume, why he was being forced to watch his friend being tortured – it was all terrifyingly clear. He was to be a pawn in one of Slade's twisted games – a game which everything said he couldn't win.

"I live for a challenge," he continued, calmly making his way back towards the table. "That's why I agreed to take down you and your boys. It wasn't for Luthor's money – money doesn't interest me. What interests me is the hunt, the kill – and what could be better than hunting down the all-powerful Justice League? I have to tell you, it was good – netting your friend here especially." He paused, glancing at AC before turning and fixing Oliver with a cold, dispassionate stare. "You, however, were a disappointment – there's no satisfaction in snaring a target that's wounded, unable to fight. I wanted to defeat the_ real_ Green Arrow – not his shadow." Again he paused, his mouth curling into a half smile. "But everything's different now, isn't it? You're back to your prime, the great hero, ready to save his friends and defeat the evil villain! How hard you must have trained these last few months, preparing yourself for your battle with Lex. And it's worked – the way you took out Luthor's hit squad is proof of that. Now you are the adversary I was hoping for – truly, a worthy opponent. So are you ready, Mr Queen? Are you ready to accept my challenge - Deathstroke versus the Green Arrow, to the death?"

The gauntlet thrown down, Slade awaited Oliver's response; both men knew that there could be only one answer.

"Do I have a choice? If I refuse, you'll kill us both."

"Oh, you will both die whatever happens – that I guarantee," replied Slade, his eyes flashing with excitement. "But if you accept my challenge I give you my word that fish boy won't suffer. Refuse, and he dies slowly – and you'll watch every minute."

Oliver was trapped - he had no option but to accept Slade's challenge. All he could hope for was that at some point the other man would make a mistake – either that, or a quick death.

"Take off his cuffs," ordered Slade, not bothering to wait for Oliver's reply. Bart quickly removed them, before grabbing Oliver by the hair and yanking his head back.

"Don't think you're gonna get out of this," he whispered, his mouth just an inch or so from Oliver's ear. "Slade's gonna fuck you up, Oliver – he's gonna fuck you up so bad!"

"The archer needs his weapon – wouldn't be a fair fight otherwise," said Slade, apparently oblivious to Bart's words of warning. He picked up a bow and threw it at Oliver, who caught it instinctively.

"Impressive – good to see your reflexes are back to their best," observed Slade, before picking up three arrows and slowly walking over to where Oliver stood. "I'll give you three shots, Queen – three shots to take me down."

He held out the arrows. Oliver hesitated for a moment, half expecting some sort of trick, then reached out and took them.

Slade made his way over to a door. He opened it, sunlight flooding in from the world beyond.

"You have five minutes," he said, stepping to one side and leaving the way open. "A five minute head start – then I come for you."

Oliver didn't move. The bow in his hand reassured him, but still he felt a terrible sense of foreboding. He had no idea what lay beyond the door; all he did know was that he was trapped, and that Slade was the sort of man who left nothing to chance. Inside a voice was screaming at him, telling him that if he stepped through that door it would be the beginning of the end….

"Run," hissed Bart, thrusting the gun into the small of Oliver's back. "Run, you fucking piece of shit!"

"The clock's ticking, Queen," said Slade, pulling out a gun and aiming it at AC. "Perhaps if I put a bullet in your friend's leg…"

Alright!" snapped Oliver, his features fixed in a look of grim determination. "I'll do it, okay? I'll play your game – just leave AC alone, yeah?"

"A deal's a deal – you have my word."

Oliver took a last look at his helpless friend, and then made his way to the door. As he reached it Slade held out his arm, barring his way.

"Remember, Queen, three shots – three shots, and then you're mine!"

Oliver did not reply, instead keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead as he waited to be allowed to pass. Slade withdrew his arm, and then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Will Ollie survive? Can he save AC? Is Roy still alive? What's happened to Clark and Chloe? Lots more twists and turns to come, I promise - and some shocks, too!<p>

Hope you enjoyed this one - Slade's a great villain, and it's fun writing evil Bart. The next couple of chapters are going to be action packed, and I'll try to post them as soon as I can. Thanks for reading, and a massive thanks to all my reviewers - please do leave some feedback if you can, as it is always amazing to hear what you guys think!


	10. Chapter 10: Hunted

**Chapter Ten: Hunted**

Oliver ran through the forest, weaving this way and that to avoid the densely packed trees. His heart pumped furiously in his chest, and every muscle in his body ached. He wanted to stop, but knew he couldn't – not yet, at least. Thirty minutes had passed since he'd left Slade's base, thirty minutes in which he'd run blindly into an unknown landscape, adrenalin and a fierce will to survive driving him on. He had no idea where he was, although the heat and vegetation suggested he was on an island, probably not far from where he'd been taken. One thing was clear – wherever he was, he was alone. He'd come across no signs of human activity - no roads, no houses, not even so much as a trail. Slade had chosen his hunting ground well; no one was going to intrude on his lethal game.

Finally, Oliver felt himself beginning to focus. When he'd started to run he'd been confused, almost disorientated, with a thousand and one thoughts and emotions vying for his attention. As he'd plunged into the undergrowth that surrounded Slade's base he'd been unable to shift from his mind those terrible images of AC strung up like a piece of meat, tortured by the depraved monster who now hunted him. And then there was Roy – what had happened to Roy? And Victor, and Chloe, and Clark – he'd hoped to save them all, but now his plans were in tatters. Fear for his friends, the devastating realisation that all those months of preparations had been for nothing, had left his head spinning. Instinct had driven him on, made him plough forwards even as his mind struggled to cope with such a swift turn in fortune. It was only now, half an hour after he'd begun his flight into the unknown, that he was able to think clearly. Slade might have planned everything, but he still had a chance. He was free, and he had a weapon; if he could just stay alive, then he might find a way of turning the tables. AC was counting on him – he'd be damned if he was going to let him down now.

For ten minutes he'd been covering his tracks, drawing on the evasion techniques that he'd learnt during his training. He'd expected to use them in the urban jungles of Metropolis and Star City, not in a real jungle, but still they served his purpose. Slade seemed to have forgotten that Oliver had spent a year marooned on an island not dissimilar to this one. He knew how to survive in the wilderness, to blend into the environment until he became a part of it. Already he was beginning to get a feel for his surroundings, to spot potential weapons, places where he could set a trap. Slade still had the advantage, but Oliver's confidence was growing; with every minute that passed, he could feel the odds shifting in his direction.

He came to a clearing. Satisfied that he'd given Slade the slip, he stopped, at last giving his tired muscles the break they needed. Trees surrounded the clearing on three sides, whilst ahead of him a wall of rock stretched upwards into the sky, its sheer face impossible to climb. Apart from the sound of the birds singing in the trees, the place was completely quiet, not a breath of wind to disturb the tranquillity. In other circumstances Oliver might have appreciated its beauty, but not now. His mind was racing, trying to figure out how he could turn the tables on his pursuer. He'd need to lure him out into the open, somewhere he could make his skill with the bow count for more than Slade's physical strength…..

Suddenly the peace was broken by the sound of something slicing through the air. Sensing an object land at his feet, he looked down. It was an arrow, embedded at an angle in the soil. For a split second Oliver didn't understand; he thought one of his own arrows must have fallen from his quiver. Then a voice sounded above him, causing him to look upwards to the top of the cliff.

"Had enough already, Queen? We're just getting started!"

_Slade!_

Stunned, Oliver couldn't quite believe his eyes. There, standing high above him, stood his pursuer, a crossbow in his hand. How was this possible? He'd covered his tracks with immense care, repeating his evasion techniques three or four times over to make absolutely certain he wasn't being followed. And yet here was Slade – not just pursuing him, but outflanking him. It didn't make any sense – it didn't make any sense at all….

There wasn't any time to think. Recovering from his initial shock, Oliver saw Slade taking aim for a second time. He dived to his left, avoiding the potentially lethal shot by a matter of inches.

"I said those reflexes of yours were good, Queen," laughed Slade, watching as Oliver rolled across the ground. "Here, try this!"

He took aim for a third time. Again Oliver managed to escape, timing his roll to the right with split second accuracy. He then leapt to his feet and made a dash for the cover of the trees, Slade's laughter echoing in his ears.

"That's right, archer, you run!" he shouted, his voice booming through the trees as Oliver ran headlong through the undergrowth. "It makes no difference – wherever you hide, you know I'll find you!"

Oliver plunged into the half light of the forest. His heart pumped furiously in his chest as he ran through the trees, desperate to put distance between himself and his pursuer. He tried to stay calm, to focus, but it was difficult; his advantage gone, the optimism of seconds earlier had been replaced by fear. His muscles ached, but he didn't dare slow down, for fear that Slade would fall upon him at any moment. How had he found him – how on earth had he found him?

He leapt over a fallen branch, but landed badly. Falling to the ground, he cried out in pain as his ankle twisted awkwardly. Mercifully, it wasn't twisted, so that within a couple of seconds he was able to haul himself to his feet.

"Where are you, archer? Stand and fight – or are you afraid?"

Oliver froze, his blood running cold as he heard Slade's voice boom through the trees. The forest played tricks with the sound, so that it seemed to come from all around him. Worse, he sounded close – very close.

Oliver' eyes darted from left to right, trying to locate the source of the danger. He could hear Slade moving through the undergrowth, apparently unconcerned that he risked giving away his location. Still Oliver could not see him. He decided not to wait, but instead began to run once more. His ankle objected, but he ignored the pain; all that mattered was to keep moving.

He ran for another ten minutes, once more deploying the evasion techniques that he'd honed to perfection on patrol back in Metropolis. Occasionally he would stop, pausing to listen to see whether his pursuer was still on his trail. Every time the answer was the same, a shouted taunt or the sound of movement confirming that for all his efforts he still hadn't succeeded in giving Slade the slip. Increasingly desperate, he sensed he was running out of time. Already he was beginning to tire; Slade could only have been a minute or so behind him, and soon his superior strength and stamina would prove decisive. He needed a game changer, something to shift the odds – otherwise he was finished.

Suddenly the trees began to thin out. Seconds later and Oliver found himself in a clearing, bright sunlight bathing everything in a warm, welcoming glow. Immediately Oliver's attention was drawn to a small hut, located under the trees on the far side of the clearing. Without a moment's hesitation he began to run towards it. He didn't know what he expected to find – perhaps a weapon, or some other means to protect himself – but something drew him towards it. It was the first sign of human activity that he'd come across since leaving Slade's base, and he couldn't ignore it; perhaps it would contain the opportunity to turn the tables he'd been looking for.

He came to a halt at the door to the hut. He reached out for the handle, a strange sense of foreboding sweeping over him as he grasped it in his hand….

He heard a sound, like a switch being flicked. He didn't have time to react; something tightened around his ankles, and almost simultaneously he was plucked from the ground and hoisted violently up into the air. Blood rushed to his head, everything becoming a dizzying blur. He clamped his eyes tightly shut, his instincts taking over as his mind and senses struggled to catch up with what was happening. He guessed he'd fallen into a trap of some kind, the handle of the door acting as a trigger for the snare that now held him tight. Whatever it was, he could feel it still wrapped securely around his ankles, cutting painfully into his flesh as it carried his entire body weight.

Oliver cursed to himself. How could he have been so stupid? He should have guessed Slade would have laid traps – a man like him would leave nothing to chance. He needed to free himself, and free himself fast – Slade would be there at any moment. His head beginning to clear, he opened his eyes. It was exactly as he expected. He was hanging upside down about eight feet off the ground, his legs held firm by a length of cord that had been looped over the branch of a nearby tree. Looking down, he could see his bow lying on the grass directly beneath him. He sighed; not only was he unable to move, but he'd also lost his one means of protecting himself. He had to free himself, but how?

Thinking quickly, Oliver reached behind him. The arrows that Slade had given him were still in the pouch he'd had sewn into the back of his tunic. Grateful that luck had not completely abandoned him, he pulled one free, before pulling himself upwards and grabbing hold of the cord. Immediately he started work, feverishly slicing away at his bonds. It wasn't thick, and much to his relief the arrowhead soon began to do its work.

"Where are you, leather boy? Had enough of running yet?"

Slade's voice, very close now. Oliver continued to cut away at the cord, hoping it wasn't too late…..

"Well now, what do we have here?"

Oliver's stomach churned. He didn't need to look up – he knew that Slade had found him.

"You need to watch where you step, Queen – this island's a dangerous place for a pretty boy like you," said Slade, standing on the far side of the clearing. Desperately, Oliver continued to work away at the cord. He was nearly there – just a few more seconds….

"You did well, archer," continued Slade, leisurely making his way towards where Oliver hung, helpless, in the air. "Those tricks you used to cover your tracks? Best I've ever seen. But you knew it was gonna end like this sooner or later – had to. Because I'm better than you, Green Arrow – and now you're mine."

Oliver looked up, and to his horror saw Slade raise his crossbow and take aim. He flinched, but the bolt didn't hit him. Instead it cut through the cord about a foot or so above his feet. He crashed to the ground, the force of the impact at last helping to loosen the remains of the cord which was still wrapped around his legs.

He could feel the thud of Slade's boots moving steadily towards him. The arrow was still in his hand. Reaching out, he grabbed the bow and then leapt to his feet. He could see the surprise in Slade's eyes; the man clearly hadn't expected any more resistance from his cornered prey. Oliver didn't hesitate, and with a skill practised on a hundred or more missions he took aim and fired the arrow straight into the other man's chest. Slade staggered, and then fell to his knees. For a split second Oliver thought it was over, but he was wrong. Instead of collapsing to the ground, Slade took hold of the arrow and slowly pulled it from his chest. He then looked up, grinning broadly.

"Not bad, Queen," he said, snapping the arrow in two as blood oozed from the wound. "But you'll have to do better than that – much better."

He hauled himself to his feet. Oliver didn't see; already he was running wildly through the trees, trying once more to put distance between himself and his relentless pursuer. He was scared now. The arrow he'd shot into Slade's chest should have stopped the man in his tracks; instead he'd brushed it off as if it were little more than just a pinprick. Could anything stop this monster?

"One shot gone, archer," boomed Slade's voice somewhere behind him. "Only two left – two more chances to save yourself and your friend!"

Oliver needed no reminding. It wasn't just his own life at stake – it was AC's too. How could he turn this round?

Suddenly the trees came to an end. Oliver skidded to a halt, just in time to stop himself from falling headlong into a ravine. Far below he could see a fast flowing river, its water rushing swiftly around the rocks which marked its route. He looked to his left and right, searching for a bridge that might carry him over the chasm. There was none. He was trapped – there was nowhere left to run.

"Game over, leather boy."

Oliver whirled around, to find Slade standing just a few feet away. He began to move towards Oliver, a knife in his hand…..

Oliver didn't hesitate. He turned, and then leapt headlong into the ravine.

* * *

><p>It took Slade about fifteen minutes to make his way down the narrow path which led to the foot of the ravine. He hadn't expected Oliver to jump, and it irritated him. After the thrill of the hunt, he'd been looking forward to the kill; to be denied the pleasure of disposing of Oliver personally would be a frustrating conclusion to what otherwise had been an exhilarating chase. He'd expected great things from the Green Arrow, and he'd not been disappointed; the hero had proved a worthy adversary, fighting hard to save both himself and his friend. Oliver's leap into the ravine, however, had left him feeling cheated. He'd been looking forward to breaking Oliver. The thought of having the archer at his mercy, of hearing him scream as he endured hour after hour of excruciating pain with no hope of rescue – that was something he'd dreamt of since first hearing of Oliver's remarkable resurrection. Now he would have to be satisfied with AC, and given the state he was in it was unlikely that he would survive too many more sessions in the chamber. No, it was Oliver he really wanted. He recalled how he'd had the young hero at his mercy five months earlier, how he'd resisted his torments for hours at a time. Slade had been forced to hold back then, limited in the hell he could visit on Oliver by Lex's demand that his body be left unmarked. Now there were no such limits. He could do what he wanted with his prey, and he'd thought of little else since he'd heard of Oliver's return from the dead. Was he really to be cheated of all that? Had Queen slipped through his fingers yet again?<p>

He stood on the rocks next to the river, scanning the opposite bank for any sign of his quarry. The current was strong, and he knew that Oliver's body could have been swept some way downstream. It might have taken hours to locate him, were it not for the small box he now held in his left hand. Slade smiled. Placing the tiny tracking device on Oliver's tunic had been a stroke of genius – not only had it helped him hunt his prey, but now it would guide him to his body. How many times had Oliver believed he had escaped, he wondered, only for him, Slade, to turn up out of nowhere? It gave him a kick to think of how desperate he must have been in those final minutes, totally at a loss to understand how his pursuer kept finding him time and time again. Queen had been a fool to believe he would play fair; now, like all fools, he'd paid the price.

Slade activated the device. A small red light appeared in the center of the display, marking the spot where Oliver would be found. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Slade then began to make his way along the river bank, picking his way through the large rocks that littered the valley floor. After a minute or so the red dot began to glow more brightly, a sure sign that he was closing in on his target. Supremely confident, he didn't feel the need to pull out a weapon; if Oliver was alive, he was certain he would be in no fit state to resist.

The red dot was pulsating strongly now, so large it almost filled the screen. He was there – so where was Oliver? Looking around, at first he saw nothing. Then, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention, something which didn't quite belong. It was the toe of a boot, protruding from behind a large rock just a few feet from where he stood.

Oliver's boot.

His heart pumping a little faster in his chest, Slade began to make his way towards it. As he approached he thought of what awaited him – Oliver, broken and helpless, wholly at his mercy. Had he survived the fall? Was he to take the archer alive after all?

He rounded the corner of the rock, but then stopped dead in his tracks. The boot was Oliver's, but that was it – there was no sign of its owner. For a split second Slade didn't understand. The tracker was working perfectly well, so why had it led him here? He'd attached it to Oliver's tunic, not his boot. What was this?

The he saw it.

The tracker, carefully placed to the right of the boot.

Slade smiled.

_Clever boy, Queen – clever boy!_

Something moved on the slope above him. He looked up, to find Oliver towering over him, bow in hand. For a split second time seemed to stand still, the two men staring at each other. Slade said nothing, but instead opened his arms out wide, as if to welcome what was now the inevitable. Oliver didn't flinch. He fired, the arrow flying from his bow straight into Slade's heart. The other man glanced down at it, frowning, before raising his head once more. He stood motionless for a few moments, a broad grin slowly forming on his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came; instead he fell forwards, crashing lifeless to the ground.

Oliver fell to his knees. Exhausted, he could hardly believe it was over. The chase had taken it out of him, but the dive into the river had almost been too much. The current had been strong, and it had taken every ounce of his strength to swim to the bank. Still, against the odds, somehow he'd made it; perhaps there was someone up there watching over him after all. Hauling himself out of the water, he'd lain on the bank for two or three minutes, so shattered he could barely move. It was then he'd found the tracker, digging into his back as he lay flat out staring at the sky. A piece of luck, but it was all that Oliver had needed. Renewed by the possibility of at last gaining the upper hand, his instinct for survival had taken over. The trap was set, with hardly a second to spare; Oliver had reached his hiding place just as Slade had come into view. He'd hardly dare to believe that it would work, that his pursuer would fall for it. Yet, miraculously, he had. He'd done it:

Slade was dead.

* * *

><p>Slade is dead!<p>

_Or is he..._ *evil laugh*

Hope you liked that one, and sorry it's been a long time coming - all sorts of things have made writing difficult recently. If you are still reading, thanks so much for your support. Please do post a review if you can - a little encouragement would be really welcome right now!


	11. Chapter 11: I am Immortal!

**Chapter Eleven: "I am Immortal!"**

After a minute or so Oliver hauled himself to his feet. Every muscle in his body ached, but he knew he didn't have time to rest. AC was still a prisoner, and he shuddered to think of how Bart was filling the time as he awaited Slade's return. He needed to get back to his friend fast, before it was too late.

Carefully, he began to make his way down the slope towards the river. Slade lay where he fell, silent and unmoving. As Oliver approached he could feel his muscles beginning to tense. He remembered all too clearly how Slade had pulled an arrow from his chest during the chase, and at the back of his mind was the thought that perhaps his pursuer was not dead after all. Reason told him it was impossible; the arrow had penetrated his heart, a wound nobody could survive. But Slade wasn't just anyone. He'd taken down AC, Victor, Bart, even Clark – people with abilities, abilities that Slade had made appear feeble and useless. He was no ordinary man, but surely even he could not have survived an arrow through the heart?

Warily, he moved towards Slade's body. He was lying face down on the ground, a pool of blood emanating from the wound to his chest. Taking no chances, Oliver aimed an arrow straight at the back of his head; if Slade was still alive, he wanted to be ready. Then, tentatively, he nudged the man's body with his foot, ready to leap back at the slightest hint of movement. There was none.

Oliver heaved a sigh of relief. His fears had been unfounded – Slade really was dead.

Satisfied that Slade no longer presented a threat, Oliver reached down and picked up his boot. He then walked over to the water's edge, sitting down on a rock to pull it back on. Already his mind was turning to his next challenge, and how he would free AC. Physically Bart was no match for him, but his speed made him a powerful adversary. What's more, he needed to take his old team mate alive. He needed to get him to Emil, so that they could begin work on finding an antidote to Luthor's toxin. He'd not given up hope that it might be possible to save the teenager. The old Bart was still there, he felt sure of it – all they had to do was to find him again.

Suddenly a shadow fell over him.

_No, surely, it couldn't be….?_

"Good shot, boy. Good – but not good enough."

Oliver leapt to his feet, spinning round as he did so. In front of him, no more than a couple of feet away, stood Slade. His chest was soaked in blood, and yet he appeared unharmed; only the hole in the fabric of his jacket gave any hint of the wound that logic and reason said should have claimed his life. His eyes flashed with excitement, and for good reason:

Both men knew he had won.

Oliver lunged for his bow, lying on the ground where he had left it just moments before. Slade was too quick for him, his fist driving into Oliver's face and sending him flying through the air. He landed heavily, the force of the impact leaving him momentarily winded. Slade pressed home his advantage. Almost casually, he walked over to where Oliver lay, helpless and in agony.

"Did you think I was dead, Queen?" he roared, grabbing Oliver by his tunic and holding him aloft as if he were no more than some rag doll. "Did you think you'd won? No one can defeat me, leather boy – no one!"

He then hurled Oliver against some rocks, laughing as his victim cried out in pain. Dazed, Oliver tried to scramble away, but again Slade was on top of him, hauling him up and tossing him into the air. Again he fell to the ground with a sickening thud, every bone and muscle in his body crying out for relief. But Slade was relentless. For three or four minutes he continued his brutal game, throwing Oliver's shattered body into the air time and time again until he was barely conscious. Oliver offered no resistance. All he could do was pray, pray that it would all soon be over…

After what seemed like an eternity, Slade finally paused. He stood over Oliver, watching as the young hero choked and gasped for breath.

"Had enough, pretty boy?" he sneered, contemptuously rolling Oliver onto his back with his boot.

"Go to hell, Slade," croaked Oliver, his voice filled with defiance. "Do you hear me? Go to hell!"

Slade laughed. "You're the one going to hell, Queen," he said. "But not yet – not until I've finished with you."

He reached down and grabbed Oliver by the hair. He then dragged him to the water's edge, before plunging him head first into the water.

"You need to learn some manners, boy!" he shouted, watching as Oliver struggled in vain to free himself. Tightening his grip, he pushed Oliver deeper into the water. Oliver's arms flayed around pointlessly, instinctively trying to find something, anything, that might help. Water splashed into the air, Oliver fighting desperately to escape his captor's hold. Nothing made any difference. The seconds passed, Slade watching as slowly Oliver's resistance began to fade. His arms stopped moving, before gradually his body became limp. A stream of bubbles floated to the surface, a sign that Oliver had finally given up the fight…..

It was then that Slade pulled him from the water. Wide eyed and disorientated, Oliver gulped at the air, like a fish suddenly plucked from the deep. Slade wrapped his forearm around his throat, pulling him against his chest.

"Did you enjoy that, boy?" he said, his mouth just inches from Oliver's right ear. He was pumped up, high on the exhilaration of a hunt successfully completed. "Because this is just the beginning. By the time I've finished you'll be begging for mercy – begging for mercy from Deathstroke!"

"Never!" whispered Oliver, his voice almost inaudible.

"Still want to be the hero, eh?" replied Slade, drawing Oliver even closer. "That's good – makes what I've got in store for you even better."

He tightened his grip around Oliver's neck, cutting off his airway.

"Now you sleep now, leather boy," he whispered. "Sleep – because when you wake, that's when the fun really starts."

Those were the last words Oliver heard. His eyelids flickered, and then he succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

><p>"Wake up, Oliver."<p>

A voice – familiar, yet somehow different….

"I said, wake up!"

The voice was more insistent now, angry that he was not responding. Through the fog of pain and confusion that filled his mind, Oliver struggled to focus. He knew that voice – he knew it well. Who was it?

_Think, Oliver – think!_

"Wake the fuck up!"

He was being slapped – the owner of the voice was slapping him! What was this? What the hell was going on?

Suddenly he felt the shock of ice cold water hitting his face and chest. His eyes sprang open, wide and unseeing.

"Beauty sleep's over, Oliver – time for us to have some fun!"

Bart stood in front of him, a bucket in his hand. For a split second Oliver didn't understand what was happening, but then the twisted smile on the teenager's face caused the memories of the last twenty four hours to come flooding back. Gripped by a mixture of panic and anger, he tried to move, but couldn't. A look to his left and right immediately revealed the reason why. Naked to the waist, he was shackled to some sort of metal frame, his wrists manacled to either side of his head so that he appeared to holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. His ankles were similarly shackled, his legs pulled apart and held tight by additional leather straps. Two further belts were stretched across his waist and chest, firmly anchoring him place.

He was helpless – just as Slade wanted it.

Oliver pulled at his bonds, knowing as he did so it was pointless; having captured their prey, Slade and Bart were not going to make any mistakes.

"Relax, Ollie!" continued Bart, putting down the bucket and stepping forwards so that his face was just inches from Oliver's. He grinned, clearly enjoying his former mentor's predicament. "Did you enjoy your beauty sleep, hero? Cos I'm telling you man, what we've got planned – you're gonna need it."

Oliver did not reply, but instead scowled defiantly at his tormentor.

Bart took a step back. "He's awake!" he shouted, not taking his eyes from Oliver.

Oliver sensed movement away to his left. Looking across, for the first time he took stock of his surroundings. He wasn't surprised to find himself back at Slade's base. Instruments of torture, the tools of Slade's trade, lay all around, but one thing was missing:

_AC!_

Oliver's eyes widened as he looked at the chains hanging empty in the center of the room. A terrible feeling of foreboding fell over him, a feeling that he was too late…

Slade emerged from the shadows. Without a word, he slowly made his way towards Oliver, a long knife clasped in his right hand. The air seemed pregnant with expectation, both men knowing what was to come.

"What have you done with AC?" demanded Oliver defiantly, relieved that the fear he felt inside didn't show in his words.

Slade didn't reply. Instead he circled Oliver, like a predator biding his time, waiting to strike. He understood the power of silence, how it could unnerve even the bravest of men. And Oliver _was_ brave – perhaps the bravest man he'd ever fought. Now, however, he was afraid – Slade could see it in his eyes, in the beads of sweat that ran down his face, his chest, his back. He'd seen Oliver like this before, but this time it was different; this time there would be no escape.

"What have you done with him? Answer me, damnit!"

"Shut your mouth!" said Slade, lashing out and backhanding Oliver around the face. Before he could recover Slade placed the knife against his throat, pressing it into his skin.

"You talk too much, Queen," he continued, feasting on the fear of his prey. "The time for talking's over, boy."

"Please," whispered Oliver, straining his neck back as he felt the knife cut into his flesh. "Please, just tell me he's alive."

Slade smiled. "Still playing at being a hero, eh? Don't worry, your boyfriend's still alive – for now."

Oliver swallowed hard. A wave of relief swept over him as he realised that his worst fears were not true. AC was alive – there was still hope.

"Did you think you'd beaten me, leather boy?" whispered Slade, edging closer. Slowly, sickeningly, he began to run the knife down Oliver's neck and onto his chest, taking his time to trace the contours of his well-honed muscles. His eyes flashed with excitement as he surveyed the young hero's sculpted physique, the product of months of training. Oliver was strong, powerful – exactly how he liked his victims to be. He was going to enjoy this – he was going to enjoy this very much…..

"You fought well – better than I expected," he continued, latent menace in every word. "But no one can defeat me - _no one_. Knives, bullets, arrows, it doesn't matter – nothing harms me. I am invincible, Queen – I am _immortal!_"

Oliver did not reply. He knew what was coming – all he could do now was steel himself for the inevitable.

"You, however, are not immortal," continued Slade, a smile slowly forming on his lips. The tip of the knife had reached Oliver's abdominal muscles. He paused, pressing the blade deeper into the tight wall of muscle that now lay exposed and vulnerable. "The mighty Green Arrow is just a man, isn't he? And we both know what that means."

He hesitated, like a cobra the second before it strikes.

"It means you can feel _pain_."

Slade thrust the knife into Oliver's gut. Oliver screamed, throwing his head back in agony as pain seared through his body. Slade twisted the blade, but took care not to let it penetrate too deep; his intention was to torture, not to kill.

"Yeah man!"" shouted Bart, pumped up on his former friend's torment. "Hurt him, Slade – make the fucker scream like a bitch!"

Slade waited for a few seconds, savouring his victim's agony. Then, slowly, he withdrew the knife, watching as Oliver gasped for air.

"Do you remember the last time, Queen?" he asked, calmly wiping the sides of the blade on Oliver's sweat drenched, heaving chest. "How strong you were, how determined you were not to break? This time's different, boy. This time there's no Lex telling me what to do, telling me I can't mess up that pretty face of yours. I can do whatever I want with you, and you know what? I'm gonna hurt you, boy – I'm gonna hurt you so bad even your own mother won't recognise you."

Oliver glared angrily at his captor. "Go fuck yourself!" he hissed, daring the other man to do his worst.

Slade laughed. "That's good, Queen – that's good! But how long do you think you can stand the pain? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? How long will it be before the mighty Green Arrow finally breaks?"

Again he thrust the knife into the open wound, causing Oliver to cry out in anguish once more.

"That's right, boy, you scream!" shouted Slade, twisting the blade. "Scream all you want, Queen, but it won't do you any good. You're mine, Green Arrow – and this time no one's gonna come and save you!"

Oliver closed his eyes and prayed – prayed for the strength to endure the long days of hell that now seemed inevitable.

What he didn't know was that Slade was wrong.

Someone _was _going to try to save him – the man who even now crouched hidden in the bushes which surrounded the compound, listening to his anguished cries.

Roy Harper had found his friend – now he had to find a way to save his life.

* * *

><p>You knew it wasn't going to be <em>that <em>easy, didn't you? How has Roy survived? Can he save Ollie in time? Will they manage to rescue AC? Will they be able to defeat Slade? All will be revealed in the next two chapters, as the first half of the story reaches its climax. Then Chloe and Clark will appear once more, which I know a lot of you are waiting for. Lots of action, angst, twists and heroic Ollie ahead, I promise!

Thanks for reading, and especially for reviewing. Please do post a review if you can - even a few words of encouragement can make such a difference!


	12. Chapter 12: Breaking Point

**Chapter 12: Breaking Point**

_He's stopped – why has he stopped?_

Twenty minutes had passed since Slade had first plunged his knife into Oliver's gut. Since then the torment had been unrelenting, Slade setting about his task with the clinical efficiency of a man well versed in the dark of arts of torture. Three further wounds had been added to the first, one more in Oliver's abdominal wall and two on his chest. Each had been expertly cut, the incisions deep enough to cause unbearable pain, but not so deep as to threaten the life of the stricken victim. For Slade, of course, this was not enough. Time and again he had returned to each wound, inserting the blade of his knife and twisting it until Oliver's agonising screams seemed to rent the air into a thousand pieces. Oliver had been tortured before, but nothing could have prepared him for this; to him Slade seemed nothing short of the devil in human form, his torture chamber a vision of hell on earth.

Now, however, it had stopped, and Oliver was desperately trying to take advantage of this unexpected respite to gather his strength for what was to come. Soaked in sweat stained red by the blood which seeped from his wounds, he slumped exhausted against the straps and chains which bound him to the frame. Breathing heavily, his head lolled forwards onto his chest, his eyes shut tight against the nightmare that surrounded him.

_I won't break… I will not break!_

The same few words kept repeating over and over again inside his head, a mantra to shield him from the horrors that were being visited upon his body. If he could just stay strong inside, place himself mentally in a fortress that even Slade could not penetrate, then he knew he could survive anything his captor might inflict upon him. He'd been captured before, suffered all manner of torments, but every time he had survived, come through stronger. He just needed to tap into those reserves of inner strength that had served him so well in the past, cloak himself in the mental armour that would allow him to endure the unendurable….

Deep down, however, he knew it wasn't working.

However many times he repeated those words to himself, however insistently he demanded that he stay strong, he could feel the fear welling up inexorably inside him. He was fighting a losing battle, and both he and his captor knew it. Soon the tide of despair and hopelessness that was gnawing away at his sub-consciousness would rise up and overwhelm him, robbing him of his last shreds of pride and self-respect. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, of course. After the events at Nemesis he'd long since lost the sense of invulnerability that he'd felt when he'd first slipped into his leathers and started his fight to bring justice to the city he loved. The naïve young man who had brought together a band of disparate heroes to form the Justice League was gone, replaced by someone altogether wiser and tougher. He now knew that the good guys didn't always win, that life wasn't a comic book with a guaranteed happy ending. He also knew that he could die. In the months he'd spent preparing for this mission he'd known that the odds were stacked against him, that he might be captured and killed. Still, he'd always consoled himself with the belief that he would face death with courage, that whatever Lex or Slade did to him, he would die the hero that Chloe had fallen in love with. Now, however, even that was to be denied him. Slade was not going to grant him the mercy of a noble death. Instead he was going to strip away his heroic pretensions, reduce him to a broken husk of his former self. He would scream, he would weep, he would beg, but none of it would make any difference – he was Slade's now, and no words, however often they were repeated, could change that.

"Wake up, hero!"

The shock of ice cold water hitting his face and chest caused Oliver's head to shoot upwards from his chest. He stared wide eyed for a moment, as if not quite comprehending what had happened. Slade stared back at him, grinning broadly.

"Did you enjoy your little rest, leather boy?" he asked, his eyes flashing with excitement. "Because the foreplay's over now, Queen – time for you to learn what real pain is all about!"

Filled with trepidation, Oliver watched as Slade picked up two long metal prods from a nearby table. His eyes widened in horror as he saw that each was connected to wires that ran away to an electrical panel mounted on the wall over to his left.

"Wonderful thing, electricity," said Slade, holding the two prods aloft and studying them intently. "Breaks even the hardest of men. They scream, cry, beg, even shit themselves – and that's just after a few minutes." He paused, turning and fixing Oliver with a stare of pure evil. "I wonder how long you'll last, archer – shall we find out?"

He stepped in front of Oliver, holding out the prods so that they were just a few inches from his face. An electrical charge arced between them, crackling obscenely.

"Ready, pretty boy?" whispered Slade.

"Go fuck yourself," replied Oliver, summoning up his last reserves of strength for one final show of defiance.

Slade paused for a split second, savouring the fear he could see in the other man's eyes. He then placed the prods against either side of Oliver's neck. Immediately Oliver let out a visceral cry of such agony it barely seemed human. His body jerked obscenely against the bonds that held him tight, twisting and twitching like something from a horror movie. The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced; it was as if every nerve in his body was on fire, from the tips of his toes to the very core of his being. His eyes filled with tears, but still he could see Slade, hear his laughter echoing in his ears…..

The torture lasted for ten seconds – for Oliver, they were the most terrible ten seconds of his entire life.

"Had enough yet, hero?" asked Slade, at last removing the prods from Oliver's neck. Oliver slumped forwards, his chest heaving as he tried to force air into his lungs.

"Please," he gasped, able to contain his feelings of despair and desperation any longer. "Please, I'm begging you….."

"_Begging_ me!" roared Slade triumphantly. "Did you hear that, Bart? The great Green Arrow, begging _me_ for mercy – and that was just the warm up!"

"Hit the fucker again," demanded Bart callously. "Fry him where it _really_ hurts."

"What – you mean down there?" said Slade, glancing down at Oliver's crotch, still covered by his leather pants. "I gotta tell you, Queen, I thought I was a sick bastard, but I got nothing on this kid of yours!"

"No, please….." whispered Oliver, fighting back the tears. He had been strong for so long, survived so much, but now he couldn't do it anymore – he couldn't be the hero he wanted to be. He felt alone, frightened, scared, and no mantra about staying strong could change that. Slade had won – he had reached his breaking point.

"Please….Please, I can't…." he continued, his voice cracking with emotion.

"Crying like a baby," sneered Slade contemptuously, grabbing Oliver by the hair and lifting up his head. "I thought you were stronger than this, Queen. Guess I was wrong – guess you really are just a spoilt little rich boy with a pretty face and pair of tight leather pants."

Casually he let Oliver's head fall back to his chest.

"You can beg me all you want, Queen," he continued, reaching once more for the prods. "Cry like a bitch – I don't care. I'm gonna torture you, and nothing on this earth is gonna change that."

He held out the prods, this time in the direction of Oliver's groin…..

Suddenly there was the sound of an explosion – some way off, but still loud enough to stop Slade dead in his tracks.

Slade and Bart exchanged glances. The island was deserted, save for themselves – what was going on?

"Watch him," ordered Slade, his face serious. Placing the prods on the floor, he grabbed Oliver by the hair once more.

"Don't get any ideas, Queen," he hissed. "I'll be back real soon – and then we'll start all over again."

He turned and made his way towards the door. Grabbing a gun, he flung it open, before making his way off in the direction of the explosion.

For a few seconds there was silence in the room, broken only by Oliver's labored breathing. Bart stared at his former friend and mentor, bound and helpless before him.

He smiled. Slade was gone – now it was his turn.

"Do you think that's the guys coming to the rescue, Oliver?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe it's AC! Maybe he's broken free and is planning on taking down Slade!"

He paused, waiting for some response. Both men knew that he was mocking Oliver; AC was in no state to mount a rescue, if he was even still alive.

"Look at you," continued Bart, stepping in front of Oliver. He grabbed him by the hair, jerking his head upwards. "The mighty Green Arrow, crying like a fucking pussy! Thought you were the tough guy, Oliver – we all did. But like Slade says, you're nothing – just a spoilt little rich kid."

Oliver said nothing. His eyes were red, and the tracks of tears stained his cheeks. But still he glared back at his former teammate, determined not to give him the satisfaction of any sort of response.

"A pussy," repeated Bart, warming to his theme like some school yard bully. "That's what you are, Oliver – a pussy boy. Say it – say you're a pussy."

Oliver's jaw tightened. Bart was out to humiliate him, and he was damned if he was going to play ball.

"I said, say you're a pussy boy," repeated Bart, tightening his grip on Oliver's hair.

Both men stared at each other, one determined to score a victory over his captive, the other equally certain he was not going to give in.

"Say it!"

Bart backhanded Oliver around the face, striking him with all the power he could muster. Oliver's head whipped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth.

"SAY IT!"

Oliver looked up at Bart, blood and saliva dripping from his mouth. "Does that make you feel good?" he gasped. "Does it? Cos I gotta tell you, Bart – beating up a man when he's tied up, that's _my _definition of a pussy."

If Oliver's words were intended to rile Bart, they worked. Having watched Slade destroy Oliver so completely, he'd expected to be able to do the same. Oliver's defiance was as unwelcome as it was unexpected, and he was determined that it would not go unpunished.

"What, you think you can take me?" he said incredulously. "Okay, Oliver – you wanna fight, I'll give you a fight!"

Stepping forward, he began to remove the straps that held Oliver secure against the frame. It only took him a matter of seconds to complete the task, before he pulled a key from his pocket and started to unlock the manacles that shackled Oliver's wrists and ankles. In under half a minute Oliver was free, but in the cruellest way imaginable. Weakened by Slade's torture and without the support of the straps and chains to hold him, Oliver toppled forwards onto the hard stone floor, Bart's laughter ringing in his ears.

"What are you waiting for, Oliver?" he jeered, towering over his prostrate form and barely able to contain himself. "Thought you wanted to take me on? Well come on then – here I am!"

Exhausted, Oliver pushed himself up onto his knees. Bart didn't hesitate. He kicked Oliver in the head, sending him crashing to the floor once more.

"Come on, pussy boy, fight!" he shouted, aiming another kick, this time at Oliver's gut. Oliver rolled over in agony, unable to respond.

"I said, fight!"

Another kick to the gut. Oliver cried out in pain, praying inside for the sanctuary of unconsciousness. It was obvious Bart intended to give him a beating; the teenager's blood was up, and in this mood nothing would restrain him.

"You want a fight? I'll give you a fight."

Bart whirled round, barely catching a glimpse of Roy before a punch hit him square on the jaw and sent him flying across the room. Crashing into the wall, he slid to the floor, a look of complete surprise on his face. Knowing his opponent's strength, Roy was on him in an instant, driving his fist into his face for a second time. The punch found its mark, blood spurting from Bart's nose as he cried out in pain. However, Roy had failed to knock him out, and now the element of surprise was gone. Punching Bart for a third time, Roy found his fist hitting only the masonry of the wall, Bart using his ability to slip free of his attacker. Roy turned, his eyes searching for the other man just as Bart aimed a roundhouse kick straight at his gut. Winded, Roy staggered backwards, barely able to stay on his feet. Now it was Bart's turn to press home his advantage. Grabbing a length of electrical cable from the floor, he swiftly wrapped it around Roy's neck two or three times. Too late did Roy understand what was happening. He reached for the cable, trying to pull himself free. It was useless; Bart had him, tightening his makeshift noose and cutting off the supply of air to his lungs.

"Nice try, kid," said Bart, breathless after the fight. "You don't give up, do you? But I told you back on the boat – there's only room for one sidekick in Ollie's life."

Roy couldn't breathe. He clawed at his neck, but to no avail. Seconds passed – long, excruciating seconds, seconds in which Roy felt his life force begin to ebb away. He fell to his knees, his struggle to survive gradually fading…..

"Time to die, kid."

Roy closed his eyes. He felt light headed, as if he were slipping away into oblivion….

Then, suddenly, the pressure was gone. Disorientated, Roy fell forwards, gulping air into his lungs. What had happened? Where was Bart?

He soon had his answer.

His head clearing, he staggered to his feet. He turned, to find Bart lying face down on the floor. Standing over him, one of Slade's iron bars in his right hand, stood Oliver.

The two men stared at each other, and for a few seconds neither spoke. Against the odds, both had survived a terrifying twenty-four hours; both had feared the other dead. Again they owed each other their lives, and, just as during those nightmarish days at Nemesis, adversity had only strengthened their bond of friendship. There were no words for what each of them felt at that moment, just an unspoken understanding that they would always be there for each other, whatever the price.

"What took you so long?" asked Oliver eventually, choosing to wisecrack his way out of a moment heavy with emotion.

Roy smiled. "What can I say? I got tied up there for a while."

This time it was Oliver's turn to smile. "Really? You throw a mean right hook, Harper, but I gotta tell you – that sucked!"

Suddenly Oliver's face creased with pain, the iron bar falling from his hand and clattering to the floor. He grasped his side and swayed alarmingly, as if he might fall.

"Oliver, it's okay – I'm gonna get you out of here," said Roy, grabbing his friend and steadying him. Alarmed by Oliver's deteriorating condition, he was gripped by a sense of urgency. "If I'm right we've got about five minutes before Slade gets back. My boat's moored on the …"

"I'm not going anywhere," gasped Oliver, wincing.

"What? But Slade…. Oliver, we've got to get out of here!"

Oliver looked at Roy, his features fixed in a look of grim resolution.

"I'm not leaving, Roy," he said simply. "I'm not leaving without AC."

* * *

><p>Ollie pushed to the edge, but still the hero - just how we love it! One for the lovers of whump and angst, this one, but as you can see, we're are all set for an intense showdown with Slade next chapter. Beyond that, lots more Lex, Clark and Chloe - whether Roy and AC make it to the second half of the story, you'll just have to wait and see...<p>

Thanks for reading, and a special thankyou once again to all my amazing reviewers - you are the best! Seriously, without you this story would not be happening - thanks for all the encouragement and inspiration. Please do keep the feedback coming, and watch out for a new chapter 1-2 weeks from now.


	13. Chapter 13: Justice

**Chapter 13: Justice**

"_I'm not leaving, Roy – I'm not leaving without AC."_

Roy stared at Oliver. He knew that it was pointless trying to change his mind. AC and Oliver were like brothers; Oliver could no more abandon his friend than he could give up on his love for Chloe. Both men knew, however, what this meant – that they might not find AC in time, and that they both might fall into Slade's hands once more. They were turning their backs on a chance for freedom, but they knew that they had no choice – AC needed them, and that was all that mattered.

"But you're hurt….. Oliver, if Slade comes back…."

"I'm okay," interrupted Oliver, making it clear that the issue was settled. "Now find some rope and tie Bart up – if Slade does come back we'll have better odds if it's two against one."

Roy did as he was told, binding the unconscious teenager's hands and feet. He then stuffed a rag in his mouth and fixed it in place with a strip of duct tape; if Slade did return, he didn't want Bart warning him of their escape.

"You say we've got five minutes?" asked Oliver, grimacing as he slipped on his tunic and zipped it up.

"Slade's boat is moored down in the bay. Once he sees it's been blown up he's going to know it was a diversion – my guess is it's not going to take him long to make it back here."

Oliver picked up the bow that Slade had given him for the hunt. He then slipped some arrows into the pouch sewn into the back of his tunic, before turning towards the door.

"You ready?"

"Ready."

"Let's go."

Oliver leading the way, the two men made their way out into the sunlight that bathed Slade's compound. Usually light on his feet, Oliver moved slowly, the combined effect of Slade's tortures and the beating he'd taken from Bart clearly taking their toll. Roy knew that he was in no condition to face Slade, and so he was relieved to find the compound empty; their luck was holding, at least for now.

"You take that hut over there – I'll check this one out," ordered Oliver, slipping easily back into the role of team leader. Roy nodded, jogging away to his right to begin his search.

Oliver made his way over to another of the huts that formed part of the compound's perimeter. On reaching the door he stopped, grabbing hold of the frame to steady himself. He was in a bad way, far worse than even Roy might have feared. The wounds on his chest and stomach had reopened, soaking the inside of his tunic with blood. Every muscle in his body ached, but worse still was the pain pounding in his head, almost certainly the consequence of the few thousand volts he'd experienced courtesy of Slade just a few minutes earlier. Reason told him that he needed to rest, that he was risking everything by not taking this chance to escape. If Slade returned he would stand no chance, but despite everything the thought of leaving did not enter his head, even for a second. AC was his brother, and he was in trouble; he wouldn't abandon him, even if it cost him his life.

Refusing to give in to the pain and exhaustion, he pushed open the door to the hut. Stepping inside, he found himself in a large open space, flanked to either side by a boxes and crates. Given the dust and cobwebs that covered each one, it was clear that they had been here some time, the possessions of some previous visitors to the island. Searching the hut for any signs of recent activity, Oliver's eyes fell on the track of disturbed dirt that led away from the door. It looked as if something had been dragged in here quite recently, something large and heavy….

Instinctively, Oliver knew he had found what he was looking for. He began to follow the trail, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. What if he was too late? What if AC was already dead?

Rounding a stack of crates, Oliver stopped dead in his tracks. There, a few feet in front of him, was a large black body bag, dumped unceremoniously on the floor like a sack of potatoes.

_I'm too late – dear God, I'm too late!_

A lump in his throat, he knelt down beside the bag, his hand shaking as he reached forward and took hold of the zip. Stealing himself for the worst, he slowly pulled it back…..

AC. He knew it had to be his friend, but still the shock of seeing him lifeless and broken was like a hammer blow to his gut. In Slade's torture chamber he'd only seen him from a distance, but now close up Oliver could see the full extent of his injuries. Bruised and his body smeared with congealed blood and filth, it was clear that he had been the subject of a merciless beating. Worse was the sight of the desiccated skin that hung loosely from his bones, the product of months without even a drop of water. AC had once been the embodiment of strength and youth, a man with a body that guys would die for and that women found irresistible; now he looked like a corpse.

Slowly, gently, Oliver took hold of the duct tape that covered his mouth and peeled it back. AC's eyelids did not flicker. His sense of foreboding growing by the second, he felt for a pulse.

There was none.

Filled with a mixture of rage and despair, tears began to well up in Oliver's eyes. He stared at AC's face, scared and disfigured, but somehow at peace. It wasn't fair – none of this was fair. AC was a hero, one of the good guys – he didn't deserve to die like this, tortured and dumped like some worthless sack of garbage. He'd make them pay for this. Slade, Lex – they'd die for what they'd done to his friends….

"Oliver…?"

His heart skipped a beat. Surely his ears were deceiving him –surely it couldn't be…..?

Hardly daring to breathe, Oliver watched as AC's eyelids flickered open. In an instant grief gave way to feelings of pure joy. He was alive – despite everything, AC was alive!

"Ollie, is that you….?" whispered AC, his voice so weak it was barely audible.

"It's me, buddy – I'm here," replied Oliver, cradling him in his arms. "It's going to be okay – I'm going to get you out of here."

"Slade….!" AC's eyes widened, like a child's fearing that some bogeyman was out to get them. He was terrified; Oliver could only imagine what he'd already suffered at the hands of that monster.

"Everything's under control," said Oliver, trying to reassure him. "Just lay still, okay? We're gonna get you to a hospital just as soon as we can, I promise."

He smiled at AC, but inside he knew that the promise he'd just made was easier said than done. Looking down, he could see that his friend was still imprisoned in coils of razor wire, the barbs slicing into his flesh. Any attempt to move him would only cause further injury, and Oliver wasn't sure how much more AC could take. They needed to cut him free a strand at a time, but that could take fifteen, maybe thirty minutes, time they didn't have.

"Well, well, well – if this isn't just the sweetest sight I ever saw!"

Oliver froze. He didn't need to look up – that voice was by now all too familiar to him.

_Slade!_

"I'd say get a room, but it looks like you two boys are doing just fine," he continued, taunting the young heroes. "You sure make a pretty couple – such a shame I got to break up the party."

Slowly Oliver got to his feet, turning to confront his captor. Instinctively he placed himself between Slade and AC, determined to shield his friend as much as possible.

"You think you can protect surf boy, Queen?" asked Slade, sensing the other man's intention. "You can't save him, just like you can't save that kid who cut you lose."

Mention of Roy caused Oliver's heart to pump a little faster in his chest. "What have you done with him?" he demanded, fearing the worst.

"Relax, Oliver. He's alive – at least for now. Kid's got guts, trying to rescue you and pretty boy there. Shame I'll have to kill him, but don't worry – I'll make sure you get a ringside seat."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "You're not going to kill anyone, Slade," he growled. "This ends here, now – just you and me."

Slade's laughter echoed through the hut. "Brave words, Queen – spoken like a true hero!" he roared, Oliver's display of defiance clearly amusing him. "So what are you waiting for?"

Oliver didn't hesitate. In an act of such recklessness it defied all reason he flung himself at Slade, barrelling into him with every ounce of force he could muster. It was pure madness, but Oliver didn't care. The alternative was surrender, and a return to captivity. Days, maybe weeks, of torment would follow, torments that he knew he could not endure. Worse, he knew that his friends would be made to suffer, and the thought of AC and Roy being used as playthings in one of Slade's sadistic games was just too terrible to bear. This was his one chance to save himself and his friends, and he could not squander it – however impossible the odds might appear. He knew he'd probably die in the attempt, that they'd all die, but at that moment there seemed no alternative. Slade was going to kill them all anyway; it was better to die fighting than die a prisoner in chains.

Caught off guard by Oliver's attack, Slade fell backwards, the two men crashing to the ground. Oliver began to punch repeatedly at the other man's face, pummelling him with all the strength he could muster. Slade simply laughed, seemingly immune to the ferocity of Oliver's assault.

"That all you got, Queen?" he said, grinning broadly as Oliver landed yet another punch straight between his eyes. Oliver roared with anger, his features contorted with rage as he continued to smash the other man's face for all he was worth. Blood began to spurt from Slade's nose and mouth, but still it made no difference. Still he continued to laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the hut. He had never appeared more monstrous, his eyes flashing with delight as Oliver continued to deliver punch after punch into his ever smiling face.

After half a minute or so Oliver's strength began to fade. To his horror, he could see that his attack had achieved nothing. Blood covered Slade's face, but apart from that he appeared unharmed; if anything, he looked stronger. It was now that Slade made his move. Reaching up, he grabbed Oliver and threw him to one side, as if he were no more than a sheet to be cast off the bed at the beginning of the day. Oliver landed heavily on his back, wincing at the force of the impact. He tried to struggle to his feet, but it was too late; in an instant Slade was on top of him, pinioning his arms to his side with his legs and sitting astride his chest.

"Good try, Queen," he hissed, blood spatter from his mouth spraying Oliver's face. "Now it's my turn!"

He balled his hand up into a fist, raising it up as if ready to strike. Oliver turned his head to the side, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the blow. It didn't come. Instead the sound of gas escaping at high pressure filled the room. Oliver heard Slade roar with pain, before he stumbled backwards. Freed from his grip, Oliver rolled to one side, before staggering to his feet. Looking, he saw Slade a few feet away, clutching his face in agony. In front of him stood Roy, a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher in his hands.

"Thought you could do with some help," said Roy, glancing across at Oliver. A trickle of blood could be seen running down the left side of his face, but otherwise he appeared unharmed.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," replied Oliver, grinning.

At that moment the extinguisher sputtered, before falling silent. Half blind, Slade immediately lunged at Roy. The teenager was too quick for him, sidestepping his attack and managing to trip him up in the process. Slade fell heavily to the floor, still rubbing his eyes to clear away the remnants of the chemical. Sensing an opportunity, Oliver looked around for a weapon. A length of thick chain lay at his feet. He grabbed it and wrapped it around Slade's neck, pulling it tight. He began to throttle Slade, hanging on for all he was worth as the other man began to thrash to the left and to the right, trying to work himself free. Roy joined Oliver, grabbing hold of the chain and adding his strength to the attack. For a few seconds it seemed to be working. Then, impossibly, Slade hauled himself to his feet. Oliver and Roy momentarily lost their grip, but it was all the opportunity Slade needed. Pulling the chain from his neck, he hit out at Oliver, swatting him away like a fly and sending him sailing across the room and into the wall. Oliver crumpled to the floor, winded and helpless. Roy went to help him, but Slade anticipated his move. Taking the chain, he threw it across the room. It wrapped itself around Roy's legs and sent him tumbling to the ground. Roy scrambled to get to his feet, but Slade was immediately on top of him, grabbing him by the neck and holding him aloft.

"You'll play for that, you piece of shit!" he snarled, his eyes still raw from the effects of the chemical. Slowly he began to squeeze Roy's neck, closing off his windpipe….

Oliver knew that Roy didn't stand a chance; if he didn't act now, the teenager would die. He looked about him, again searching for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. It was then he saw the bow he'd taken from Slade's table, lying on the floor where he'd left it when he'd gone to tend AC. Acting on instinct, he grabbed it, before pulling himself to his feet and taking an arrow from the pouch sewn into the back of his tunic. The extinguisher had given him an idea, but he knew he'd only get one shot; if he missed, Roy was dead.

"How does it feel to die, boy!" hissed Slade, oblivious to what Oliver was doing. Roy was fading fast; already he'd turned a shade of blue, and his eyes were beginning to bulge in their sockets.

"Let him go, Slade!"

Slade turned, to find Oliver aiming an arrow straight at him.

"I said, let him go!"

Slade said nothing, a huge grin forming on his face. Oliver saw his grip around Roy's neck tighten, the teenager's eyelids begin to flutter….

He fired. For a split second everything seemed to stop, time standing still as the arrow sliced through the air. Then a howl of pain filled the hut, reverberating off the walls. Slade dropped Roy, clutching his face in agony. The source of his pain was clear. Oliver's arrow protruded grotesquely from his right eye socket, causing blood to pour through his fingers and down his arms. He fell to his knees, wailing like a wounded animal. Oliver showed no mercy. He grabbed the empty fire extinguisher and brought it crashing down on Slade's head. The screaming stopped, Slade lying motionless at his feet.

Oliver dropped the cylinder. He stood for a moment, towering over his vanquished foe. He couldn't quite believe he'd done it, but he had – miraculously, he had won. He had defeated Deathstroke – now it was time for the monster to face justice.

"Is he dead?" asked Roy, his voice hoarse and broken.

"No, he's not dead," replied Oliver, staring at Slade and obviously deep in thought.

"So what do we do with him?"

"Help me fetch some chains from the main building. I think I have an idea."

* * *

><p>"<em>Wake up, Slade."<em>

A voice – a voice he recognised…..

"_I said, wake up!"_

Slade opened his eyes. Immediately he knew something was wrong. Both eyes were open, and yet only one could see. It was dark, but as his eye adjusted he could just about make out he was in some kind of capsule. A red light flickered directly in front of him, and he could see the lens of what he thought must be a camera. What was this – what was going on?

He tried to move, but found he couldn't. Worse, he realised that not only could he not move – _he could not feel. _Hands, feet, arms, legs – it was as if they did not exist. Only his sight remained, and his hearing…

"_What's the matter, Slade? Can't move?"_

_Queen! _

"What is this?" he snarled, relieved to find he had not lost the power of speech. "What have you done to me?"

"_Lex's drug. You remember – the one you used on AC."_

Slade did remember. It was a powerful compound, potent enough to paralyse the strongest of men. They'd used it to condemn AC to a living death in that pod which they'd anchored to the seabed.

_That pod….._

"_Do you like your new home, Slade?" _

The full horror of his situation began to dawn on Slade. He recalled the events back in the hut, the searing agony of the arrow as it embedded itself in his eyeball. The pain was gone now, of course – suppressed by the power of Luthor's drug. But that was scant comfort, given the circumstances he now faced. Oliver had turned the tables on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"_Look up to your left, Slade." _

Oliver's disembodied voice, calm and authoritative, filled the pod. Slade looked, and saw a picture of a man pinned to the wall of the chamber. Clad in a leather jacket and a pair of blue jeans, he was posing in front of a fountain, a broad smile on his face.

"_Do you recognise him, Slade?"_

Slade said nothing.

"_His name's Dean Caruso – Detective Dean Caruso. Do you recognise him now?"_

The name rang a faint bell with Slade. And that face – there was something about it that was familiar….

"_You should recognise him, because you killed him."_

Slade _did_ remember. Caruso was the detective he'd killed five months earlier in Metropolis. Lex had framed Oliver for the murder, destroying his reputation and condemning him to the living hell that was Nemesis. He could recall standing over Caruso as he'd levelled Oliver's crossbow straight at his head. The guy hadn't flinched, even though he knew he was going to die; he'd died bravely, a real hero of the Metropolis PD.

"_He was a good cop, Slade – a good cop, and a good friend."_

"Fuck you," he snarled. "I've killed lots of men, Queen. Caruso's dead – do you think I care?"

"_He didn't deserve to die,"_ continued Oliver. _"You killed him in cold blood, just like all the others you've murdered. But now he gets to watch you die – slowly, painfully, just like you planned it for AC. Lex's drug should keep you alive down there for months, and don't think anyone's going to find you – I've moved the pod to a part of the ocean where no one will ever look."_

"I'll kill you for this, Queen!" shouted Slade. "I'll find you and I'll….."

"_Goodbye, Slade."_

"Queen!"

There was no reply, save for the hiss of a com link that had been cut.

* * *

><p>Ollie has defeated Slade! I hope you enjoyed this one, and especially Slade's fate. Locking him up in the pod like AC seemed like a good way to get rid of him, and of course it leaves open the possibility of his escape and return - he's too good a villain to kill off for good!<p>

That's the end of the first phase of the story. Now the focus will shift to Ollie's attempt to rescue Chloe and Clark, and if you think saving AC has been difficult, just wait and see what I've got in store next! Plenty of angst and drama to come, I promise - Lex has still got some nasty surprises in store for our hero...

Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to those of you who review - you guys are amazing! Please do keep the feedback coming - it means a lot, and always inspires me to keep on writing!


	14. Chapter 14: You're next, Luthor

**Chapter 14: You're next, Luthor**

Oliver hunched low over the handlebars of the Ducati, the air whistling past as he roared through the deserted streets of Metropolis. It was three in the morning, and in the last fifteen minutes he'd barely seen more than a handful of people. Most of those were either drunk or high, and the few who were in control of their senses would have seen little more than a streak of green as he shot past them at more than sixty miles an hour. He'd past a squad car a dozen or so blocks back, but by the time they had registered his presence he was already long gone. Had they recognised him? Unlikely, given the speed he was travelling. But the cameras mounted on every street corner would have picked him up. Sooner rather than later someone was going to recognise his trademark leathers, and then it would only be a matter of time before the story was splashed over the front page of the Planet:

_The Green Arrow is back!_

The thought of the storm of publicity a few grainy images of a leather clad biker would generate brought a smile to his face. His helmet and tinted visor meant that no one could see his face, so inevitably there would be speculation as to the identity of the mystery man who had decided to don the costume of the fallen vigilante. No one would guess the truth, of course – that it was Oliver himself who had returned. Everyone believed he was dead, shot whilst trying to escape custody. Only Lex would know that it was really him, and it was Lex who would have to handle the attention of the city's press. They'd be keen to get his views on the return of the Green Arrow, and somehow Oliver didn't think Lex would relish the attention of a pack of journalists right now, not when he was locked in a battle for his very survival. It all served to ratchet up the pressure, which is just what Oliver wanted. Now Slade was out of the way, he was determined not to give Lex a moment's peace; he was in the driving seat, and he intended to push his advantage home.

Two days had passed since he and Roy had anchored the pod to the sea bed. He felt no regret at condemning Slade to the same fate as he and Lex had planned for AC. There wasn't a prison on the planet that could hold him, if he'd even made it to jail; Lex's army of lawyers would almost certainly have got any charges dismissed before it got to court. Entombing him at the bottom of the ocean was the only way of neutralising Slade for good, short of putting a bullet through his head. Months of solitude lay ahead, months when he could reflect on all the lives he had ruined. It was justice for Slade's victims, not least Dean Caruso; at last Oliver felt that his friend could rest in peace.

Since they'd returned to Metropolis Oliver had barely paused to catch his breath. Emil had done a great job patching him up. The wounds that Slade had inflicted on him may have painful, but they were not deep, and it hadn't been long before Oliver had insisted on going out on patrol, much against Emil's advice. He wanted Oliver to rest, but he wouldn't listen; he knew that the clock was ticking, and every minute that Chloe spent as Lex's prisoner was a minute too long. He didn't want to think about what she must be going through, and keeping busy meant he didn't have to confront the painful truth that she had already spent five months in captivity. What had she had to endure? What had Lex done to her? Not knowing was eating away at him, and at the back of his mind was the fear that even if he managed to save her, nothing would ever be quite the same again…..

Dismissing these half-suppressed anxieties, Oliver turned into the street that led to his secret base. He needed to stay positive. Already he'd achieved a great deal; AC had been saved, and Lex's most dangerous ally had been neutralised. The momentum was clearly with him, and it wouldn't be long before Chloe and Clark were free. What happened then could wait for another day; what mattered now was freeing his friends.

Entering the base, Oliver brought the bike to a halt. As he dismounted he was met by Roy, a huge smile on his face.

"Oliver, it's AC – you are not going to believe it!" he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

"What is it – what's happened?"

"Come to the treatment room – you'll see!" answered Roy, already leading the way. Oliver followed. The treatment room was located at the far end of one of the corridors that led off from the nerve center of the base. Equipped with the latest advances in medical technology, it was where they had brought AC on their return from the island. Emil had taken charge of his care, reassuring Oliver that everything that could be done would be done to aid his friend's recovery. Things had been progressing well, as far as Oliver was aware; Roy's excitement suggested that things might have taken a significant turn for the better.

Reaching their destination, Roy opened the door, standing aside to let Oliver pass. He expected to see AC as he'd left him, lying on a bed and attached to a range of monitors and drips. The bed, however, was empty, the monitors lying idle next to it.

Confused, Oliver looked at Emil, who was standing next to the bed.

"Where is he? Emil, what's happened?"

"I got better is what happened!"

Oliver whirled round. There, standing behind the door, stood AC, a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon on his face. Oliver was speechless. It wasn't just that his friend was on his feet; it was the fact that he appeared to be completely healed. The flesh that had hung so grotesquely from his body was gone, replaced by skin that glowed with vitality and strength. The burn marks and cuts that had disfigured his frame had also disappeared. It was as if all the tortures and abuse of the last five months hadn't happened; the AC of old was back, rejuvenated and stronger than ever.

"What the….?"

"Dude, I'm a medical miracle!" exclaimed AC, holding out his arms. The two men embraced, hugging each other like long lost brothers. Both had been to hell and back, but the bond that held them together had never been stronger.

"How is this possible?" asked Oliver eventually, his hands still gripping AC's shoulders.

"AC's regenerative powers are stronger than I thought," explained Emil. "It's incredible, I know, but he's fully recovered."

"And ready to take down Lex," said AC, his face darkening. "Emil told me about Clark and Chloe – when are we going in?"

"We?" repeated Oliver. "AC, after what you've been through…."

"No way I'm sitting this one out, Oliver," interrupted AC. "You heard Emil – I'm fully recovered. I'm in – end of story."

Oliver stared at his friend. It was clear that his mind was made up, and no amount of persuasion was going to change it:

Aquaman was back on the grid.

"Okay, AC – if that's how you want it," said Oliver. "It's good to have you back, man."

"Good to be back, dude," replied AC. "And Oliver?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it, man – you'd do the same for me."

No more words were needed – they both understood what AC was trying to say. They hugged once more, holding each other a little tighter than before.

"Emil, how's Bart?" asked Oliver eventually, turning his attention back to the business in hand.

"He's come round," replied Emil. "But it's not good, Oliver – Lex's drugs are more powerful than I thought."

After the joy of AC's recovery, the news about Bart caused Oliver's face to darken. "I want to see him," he said.

"That might not be such a good idea."

"Emil – I need to see him."

Emil nodded. He turned and led the other three back out into the corridor. Opposite stood another door, secured with an electronic lock. Emil punched in an access code, before leading Oliver and others inside.

Bart lay on a bed, his wrists and ankles secured by thick leather straps attached to the frame. As Oliver entered he turned his face to the wall; he was clearly in no mood to talk.

"I've run some tests, but so far I've been unable to identify the toxin that Luthor used," said Emil. "I really need to move him to my lab at Tuckville – there I should be able to isolate the active ingredients, and then start work on an antidote."

"Whatever you need, Emil," said Oliver, staring at the back of the teenager's head. "We just want the old Bart back."

He moved round the bed so that he could see Bart's face. He scowled at Oliver, his eyes flashing with hate and anger.

"I know you won't believe this, Bart, but we're going to take care of you," said Oliver. "Emil's the best in the business – if anyone can figure out what Lex did to you, he can."

"Fuck you, Oliver," said Bart, almost spitting the words from his mouth. "Do you hear me? FUCK YOU!"

The ferocity of Bart's words made Oliver wince; however many times he confronted this new Bart, the experience always left him shaken.

"I'll get things organised," said Emil. "I'll move him today – hopefully I should have some results for you in 48 hours."

Oliver nodded. He turned and began to make his way towards the door, but Bart hadn't finished.

"You think you're gonna win?" he sneered. "Lex is gonna kill you, Oliver – he's gonna kill all of you. Chloe too – you're all gonna die!"

Oliver didn't turn round, but silently left the room.

"Man, he is seriously fucked up," said AC as they made their way back down the corridor. "Do you think Emil can save him?"

"I hope so – I really do," replied Oliver, grim-faced.

The mood lifted a little as they entered the command center of the base. Roy and AC joined Oliver in front of one of the many computers that lined one wall. A few taps of the keyboard and a map flashed up on the screen in front of them.

"Clark and Chloe are being held here," said Oliver. "Lex calls it Facility 51. Top secret, and security is tight."

"Just like old times," said AC. "So when do we go?"

"Tonight. It's going to be a long journey, so I suggest we all get some rest – I'll brief you on the mission at 18 00 hours."

Roy and AC nodded. Roy turned to go, but Oliver stopped him.

"I've not really had chance to say thanks for saving my ass back on the island," he said, pulling a box from beneath the desk and handing it to Roy. "Maybe this will make up for it."

Roy stared at the box for a moment, before looking up at Oliver.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Open it – you'll see."

Roy pulled open the lid and gasped. Inside, folded carefully, was a leather tunic. Modelled on the Green Arrow's, only the color was different – this one was a deep shade of red.

"I hope you like it – the pants are underneath," said Oliver, trying to sound casual but secretly getting a kick from how thrilled the teenager obviously was.

"It's awesome!" said Roy. "But you shouldn't have – I'm not…."

"Yes you are," interrupted Oliver, placing a hand on Roy's shoulder. "AC and I wouldn't be standing here now if it wasn't for you. You're one of us, Roy – you're part of the team."

"And if you're part of the team, you've gotta have a costume!" continued AC, checking out the contents of the box. "Nice leathers, kid. Just leave the spandex to me, yeah? It takes something special to pull off my look."

The three men smiled. A new team had been forged, and at that moment they felt ready for anything.

"So get some rest, yeah?" said Oliver. "We suit up in fourteen hours, and remember – Chloe and Clark are counting on us!"

He watched as the two men turned and made their way towards their rooms, AC ruffling Roy's hair and wisecracking about his costume. It was clear that the two of them had gelled, not that he'd ever really doubted it; from his first meeting with Roy back at Nemesis he'd known that the teenager was a natural fit for his team. He couldn't help but see the similarity between Roy and the Bart of old, a Bart that he prayed he'd see again soon…..

He turned back towards the screen, studying the schematic of Lex's newest facility. He'd not been exaggerating when he'd said security was tight. Lex had invested heavily in some state of the art surveillance systems, and Oliver was certain that the number of guards on duty would have been significantly increased. This was going to be tough, but in his heart he knew they could do it. He wasn't working alone anymore; together, he believed the three of them would be more than a match for anything Lex could throw at them.

He glanced at his watch:

3:37 a.m.

He smiled. In a few hours Lex would be getting up, and then he'd discover that he'd had an uninvited visitor during the night, a visitor who'd left him a message.

It would mark the beginning of a very bad day for Lex Luthor, a day he'd never forget.

* * *

><p>Lex strode down the corridor that led to his study. Outside, the morning sun made the perfectly manicured grounds of the Luthor mansion appear even more beautiful than usual. Not that Lex had time to enjoy the view; his eyes were fixed firmly on his Blackberry, and the messages that had arrived overnight. One in particular gave him cause for satisfaction; his team at Facility 51 had almost completed their work, and were eager for him to visit so that they could share their findings. It was a piece of news that Lex had waited weeks to hear, and seemed to provide the best possible start to the day.<p>

There was, however, no message from Slade. In fact, there hadn't been any communication from him for three days, not since he'd signalled that he'd captured Oliver. Lex was irritated, rather than worried – irritated that Slade had not seen fit to keep him informed of how he was dealing with his prisoner. He knew better than to interfere, of course; Slade was a man who always did things his way, and he was sure that either he or Bart would get in touch soon. Not for a second did he think something was wrong – not, that is, until he opened the door to his study.

He knew immediately that there had been an intruder. Everything was as he had left it the night before, but instinctively Lex sensed that things were not right. His first priority was the safe, mounted behind a picture to his right. He moved to it swiftly, and was relieved to find that it had not been forced; whoever had broken in, they had not gained access to some of his most sensitive papers. Turning, he saw the real target of his uninvited guest. The mirror which normally hid the case in which he displayed the Green Arrow's tunic was open. The tunic itself was gone, replaced by what looked like a photograph of a man's face…..

Lex's stomach turned over. Fearing the worse, he made his way over to the case. As he got closer he could see that it was a picture of Slade. The light was strange, but he appeared to be in some sort of enclosed space. What was most striking, however, was his expression; he was screaming, like some still from a black and white horror movie.

A note was pinned to the picture. Lex pulled it off, his hand shaking as he read the message:

_YOU'RE NEXT, LUTHOR_

Lex swayed slightly, his head spinning. He could hardly believe it – not only had Slade failed, but Oliver had managed to breach his security and reach right into the mansion, the one place where he believed he would be safe. The confidence of moments earlier disappeared in an instant, replaced once more by the knot of fear which started to gnaw away at his gut.

For more than a minute he stood motionless in front of the display case, apparently lost in thought. A lesser man might have panicked, but not Lex. He knew he was in danger, perhaps more danger than he'd ever been in before. Oliver was hellbent on revenge, and for once he seemed to have the upper hand. However, Lex knew that now was not the time to lose his nerve. Slade's failure was a setback, certainly – a major setback. But it wasn't the end. He still had some cards to play, cards which might yet swing the pendulum decisively in his favour.

"_Enjoy your victory, Oliver," _he thought to himself. _"But this isn't over – not by a long way."_

* * *

><p>Will Ollie and the guys save Chloe and Clark in time? What cards does Lex still have to play? All will be revealed in the next chapter!<p>

Hope you liked this one. I really enjoyed bringing back AC, and making Roy part of the team. Rest assured, big adventures lie ahead for our heroes - Lex has some nasty surprises in store, and it's looking more and more likely that not everyone is going to survive this story...

Thanks for reading, and of course a special, massive thankyou to all my amazing reviewers - you guys are the best! Please do leave some feedback if you can, because even a few words can really inspire me to write some more.


	15. Chapter 15: Reunited

**Chapter 15: Reunited**

Roy moved silently through the wood, darting from tree to tree with the practised expertise of a special forces commando. Darkness had fallen, but the moon was full, and even with the cover of the trees he was acutely conscious of how exposed he was. His new costume wasn't the best camouflage in the world, of course – not that he cared. The tunic and pants fitted him like a glove, and he couldn't have been happier to be wearing the uniform of a fully-fledged member of the Justice League. The smell and feel of the leather against his skin were reminders that his apprenticeship was over; he was now part of Oliver's team, living a life that he could only have dreamt of just a few months earlier. The despair of Nemesis was now firmly behind him, and pride mixed with excitement as he neared his target. There was fear, too – fear that he would fail in his part of the mission, that he would let down his new friends. He was acutely aware that this was no game; lives were at stake, and Oliver and AC were counting on him.

Reaching the edge of the wood, he crouched down behind a tree and surveyed his surroundings. He'd studied satellite images of the target intently during Oliver's briefing, and everything was exactly as he expected. About thirty yards ahead of him stood the perimeter fence of Facility 51. Towering high into the air, it was brightly lit by lights spread at intervals along its entire length. It was an intimidating sight, made all the more so by the fact that Roy knew it contained a hidden secret; a charge of 50 000 volts ran through it, making it lethal to the touch. Between the wood and the fence was a carefully tended stretch of grass, an immaculately manicured No Man's Land constantly monitored by a battery of ever watchful security cameras. Some distance beyond the fence Roy could make out the complex of anonymous looking buildings which made up the facility itself, and which, if Oliver was right, contained both Clark and Chloe.

Roy looked to his left, where, about a hundred yards away, he could see the main entrance to the facility. A guardhouse stood to one side of a pair of massive gates, almost as tall as the fence itself. Beyond that the fence appeared to disappear. In fact it was just the corner of the Facility, the fence turning at right angles to follow the course of the river which ran along the entire length of the western perimeter. The river was wide, and Lex had obviously hoped to exploit the natural security that it offered; tonight it would provide an unexpected line of attack for his enemies.

Roy looked at his watch:

0114 hours – one minute to go…

His heart was pumping harder in his chest now, the adrenalin beginning to kick in. He went over the plan one last time in his head, making sure everything was clear. They'd only get one chance at this; if he messed up, the whole mission would be in jeopardy.

There was movement near the river. As he watched Roy saw AC emerge from the water and move silently towards the fence. This was it; there was no going back now…..

Seconds later and an explosion shattered the stillness of the night, shaking the ground beneath him. Almost immediately six guards ran from the guardhouse, each carrying a machine gun. As the smoke from the explosion began to clear Roy could see the hole that had been made in the fence, just feet from the guardhouse. The men appeared confused, jittery, shouting instructions to each other and pointing their weapons in all directions in search of their unseen attacker. A perimeter breach so close to the guardhouse defied all logic, and it was clear they had no idea what was happening.

"Hey guys, looking for me?"

AC was standing just a few feet from the fence, a big smile on his face. Immediately six guns were trained on him, fingers poised on triggers.

"Whoa, chill guys!" said AC. "No need to get stressed, yeah? I'm just looking for a dude named Lex Luthor – maybe you know him? Bald, bad breath, kills people…."

"Put your hands up!" ordered one of the men, slowly advancing on AC. "Put your hands up or I'll shoot!"

"So I guess you do know him," replied AC, slowly raising his hands. "Bro, can you give him a message? Tell him AC called by…."

"Shut up!" shouted the guard, circling his prisoner. "Hutch, call Richards. Tell him we've got a prisoner – tell him we've got Aquaman!"

The men were relaxing a little now, their confidence growing. All of them recognised the young hero, and all of them knew that Lex would reward them handsomely if they could bring him in alive.

"Dude, you got this all wrong!" said AC, laughing. "Lex and me, we go back a long way….."

"Save it, freak!" said the guard, taking a pair of cuffs from his belt.

"Man, I wouldn't do that if I were you," said AC.

"Really? And what are you going to do about it?"

AC's grin widened.

"This."

AC's right forearm flicked upwards, his hand balled into a fist. The guard was standing immediately behind him, and didn't stand a chance; the punch caught him square in the face, causing him to stagger back in pain. The other guards barely had time to take in what was happening before AC had plunged back into the river. There were shouts, the men running to the river bank and spraying the water with bullets. Now they weren't interested in taking AC alive; they just needed a body, or else their careers at LuthorCorp were about to come to an abrupt end.

Roy seized his chance. Everything was going exactly as they'd expected it to, and now his time had come. The attention of the guards fixed solely on the river, he emerged from his hiding place and sprinted towards the guardhouse. The door was wide open. Inside he was confronted with an array of screens, each showing live feeds of the perimeter fence and the various buildings of Facility 51. His eyes scanned the room. Off to his right he found what he was looking for:

The main server for the facility's security system.

He knew he didn't have long; AC had promised to keep the guards occupied for as long as he could, but one of them might return to call for backup at any moment. His heart pumping furiously in his chest, Roy inserted the flash drive into the server. For a few agonising seconds nothing happening, before the flashing red light on the drive indicated that it was working; the virus was being uploaded.

Now he could only wait. The seconds passed, Roy looking over his shoulder time and time again to check that he was still alone. Outside he could hear the guards shouting to each other, and the occasional burst of gunfire; AC had said he would keep them busy, and he was proving to be as good as his word.

Why was it taking so long? Every second seemed like an eternity as Roy willed the upload to finish. Beads of perspiration began to slide down his forehead, and beneath his tunic he could feel his sweat sodden t shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. Surely, surely it must finish soon….

_It's done!_

As soon as the red light stopped blinking Roy pulled the flash drive from the machine. It was time to make his escape. He turned, only to find he was already too late…..

"Don't move!"

The guard stood in the doorway, his gun trained directly at Roy's head.

"Now get your hands up!"

Roy did as he was told, never once taking his eyes off the guard who stood just a few feet away. The man was pumped up, high on adrenalin; one move out of place and Roy knew he wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

"Turn around!"

Roy didn't move.

"Do it!"

Slowly, Roy began to turn. As he did so he realised that outside the shooting had stopped. Had one of the guards got lucky? They couldn't have; AC was too quick for them. Unless….. unless he wasn't all healed up after all…..

"You freaks are gonna….." began the guard, his words abruptly cut short by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. Without thinking about the possible consequences, Roy turned back – to find AC standing in the doorway, the unconscious guard lying at his feet.

"Dude, I have missed this so much!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly. Wet from head to toe, he looked like a guy who'd just taken a swim in the local pool; relaxed and brimming with self-confidence, there wasn't a hint that just seconds earlier he'd been dodging a hail of bullets from a half dozen machine guns.

"What about the others?" asked Roy.

"Bro, all taken care of," he answered. "How about the virus?"

"Uploaded – the security system's down."

AC tapped his earpiece.

"Arrow, do you copy?"

"_I copy."_

"The system is down – I repeat, the system is down."

"_Good work. Any problems?"_

"Nothing Red Arrow and me couldn't handle," replied AC, his smile widening as he exchanged glances with Roy.

"_I'm going in – rendezvous at Location Q at 0155 hours."_

"Copy that, Arrow," said AC. "Good luck."

"Everything okay?" asked Roy, eager for his teammate to fill him in.

"Everything's fine, kid," said AC. "Ollie's gonna do his thing, and then we all meet up at 0155, save Chloe and Clark, and get the fuck out of here." He sounded supremely relaxed, as if the rescue mission that they had embarked upon was going to be a walk in the park.

"So what do we do now?"

AC grinned. "What we do best – give Lex hell!"

* * *

><p>Oliver ran silently across the roof of one of the many buildings that lay at the heart of Facility 51, his heavy boots barely making a sound as they made contact with the concrete. Below him, five floors down, all hell had broken loose. LuthorCorp guards were running in all directions, mingling with a number of men and women in lab coats, presumably members of Lex's scientific team. The atmosphere was one of complete confusion, which was exactly as Oliver had planned it. Minutes earlier he had entered the compound, taking advantage of the failure of the security system. It had been relatively easy to avoid the attentions of the guards, who were wholly preoccupied with what was taking place at the main entrance. AC and Roy were keeping them busy, running rings around them and giving Oliver the cover he needed to reach his target unobserved. AC had said it was just like old times, and, as he leapt effortlessly over the void that separated one building from another, Oliver couldn't help but agree with him. The team might be incomplete, but they were back; at long last, he felt as though the end of the nightmare that he had lived through might at last be in sight.<p>

He'd reached his objective, and within a few seconds he was standing over the skylight that was to be his point of access to the most secure part of the Facility. Working swiftly, he used the tool he'd brought specifically for this job to cut a hole in the glass, removing the cut piece carefully and laying it one side; he didn't want shards of broken glass on the floor beneath attracting unwanted attention. He then dropped down into the corridor below. He landed softly, but his body was tense, his senses alert to any sign of danger. There was none, the place appearing deserted. His pulse quickening, he turned right, his hand never far from his crossbow as he made his way towards his final destination. He'd spent hours poring over maps of this place, and he felt as if he knew it like the back of his hand. If he was right, he was just seconds away from the secure unit – and the cells in which they were holding Clark and Chloe.

There were voices up ahead, approaching fast down a side corridor. Oliver looked for a place to hide, but there was none. He barely had time to work out what to do when five LuthorCorp guards appeared, just yards from where he stood. The men were on high alert, and as soon as they saw Oliver they went for their guns. Oliver was too quick for them, taking down two with bolts from his crossbow. He then dived to the ground, just in time to miss the hail of bullets that ricocheted down the corridor. Tumbling forward, he managed to get off a third bolt, which again found its mark. Without hesitating, he then threw himself into the remaining two men, driving them into the wall before they had time to get off any more shots. At least one gun clattered to the floor, not that Oliver noticed; brutally he smashed the two men's heads together, before flooring each of them with a couple of well-placed punches to the skull.

"Freeze!"

Oliver turned. Whilst he'd been preoccupied with taking down the guards he'd not noticed the two men who'd emerged from one of the rooms that lined the corridor. One, dressed in a white lab coat, appeared stunned by the sight that confronted him, his eyes almost popping out of his head as he surveyed the pile of bodies that now littered the floor. The other, dressed in the tell-tale black uniform of a LuthorCorp employee, was less surprised; he eyed Oliver calmly, his gun levelled directly at the young hero's head.

Oliver glanced down at his crossbow, lying on the floor just a foot or so away from where he was standing.

"Go for it, freak," said the guard, anticipating Oliver's next move. "Dead or alive, it's all the same to me."

"I'll pass," said Oliver, his real voice hidden by the distorter.

"Wise man. Stephens, get his weapon," ordered the other man, not once taking his eyes from Oliver. "You – put your hands on your head and get on your knees."

The man in the white coat stepped forward and picked up Oliver's crossbow, before scurrying back behind his colleague. As Oliver fell to his knees his mind was already in overdrive, trying to work out a means of escape. This guy wasn't your normal LuthorCorp hood. Not only was he physically strong, standing well over six feet tall and built like a football player, but he was also cool under pressure. He wasn't the type to make mistakes; Oliver would need to be alert for when – if – a chance presented itself….

"Lex said you might be paying us a visit," said the guard. "What was the plan – get your friends to create a diversion while you bust in here and play the hero?"

"Something like that," replied Oliver.

"Luthor's offering a reward for your capture. Thirty thousand dollars – he must want you real bad."

"Thirty thousand? You want to ask for a better deal – time was when I was worth two million."

The guard laughed. "You crack jokes like Queen, that's for sure! But fakes like you – you're not worth shit."

"Fake? Really? Look, I don't know what Luthor's told you, but I'm the real deal – I am Green Arrow."

"Sure you are," said the guard. "And I'm the fucking Queen of England!"

It was obvious that the man had no idea of the true identity of his captive; Lex had clearly thought better of telling his employees the truth about Oliver's return from the dead.

"You don't believe me? Let me take down this hood – you'll see."

"Don't you think we should call this in?" said the man in the white coat. "There might be more of them, and we need to secure…."

"Okay, tough guy – show us who you really are," interrupted the guard, ignoring the other man. He was intrigued by his prisoner's bravado, but it was the opportunity that Oliver needed….

Oliver smiled, never once taking his eyes off the guard as he slowly began to pull his hood back to reveal his blond hair, cut casually short in a style he had made his own.

"Well I'll be….!" said the guard, recognition dawning on his face. It was the last thing he said, as suddenly Oliver reached down his back and pulled an arrow from the pouch sewn into his tunic. Immediately he hurled it at the guard, the arrow embedding itself in his chest. The man cried out in a mixture of pain and surprise, but before he had time to react further Oliver sprang to his feet, knocking the gun from his hand with a well-placed kick. The man lunged for it, but Oliver was too quick; kicking it down the corridor, he then floored him with a roundhouse kick that sent him flying into the wall.

Satisfied the guard was out cold, Oliver turned to take care of the other man. He was too late. Out of nowhere he felt a cord being wrapped around his neck, and before he could react it had been pulled tight. Oliver clawed at it, but it had already dug deep into his flesh, cutting off the supply of air to his lungs and threatening to suffocate him. Behind him he could sense the other man hanging on for all he was worth. Oliver tried to throw him off, but he was stronger than he appeared, pulling at the cord with every ounce of energy he could muster. Seconds passed. Oliver could feel his lungs begin to tighten, the burning sensation in his throat that was his body telling him he was in real danger. He fell to his knees, his face beginning to turn blue as his vision began to blur. He had come so close – surely it wasn't going to end like this, killed by some lab guy in a white coat?!

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the guard, lying on his back off to his left. The arrow was still protruding from his chest. Oliver didn't hesitate; he grabbed the arrow and thrust it back in the direction of his attacker. He was working blind, and had no idea if he would find his mark. He got lucky; there was a howl of pain, and the cord around his neck loosened. Oliver pulled it away, staggering to his feet and turning to find the other man clutching his thigh, blood spurting from the wound caused by the arrow which was now impaled in his flesh. Recovering quickly, Oliver grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, lifting him off the ground with the strength of his grip.

"Where is she? Where's Chloe Sullivan?" he snarled, moving in close so that his face was just inches from the other man. His eyes flashed with anger, his nostrils flaring as he scowled at the man who seconds earlier had held his life in his hands.

"Where is she!" he demanded, pulling the man from the wall and slamming him back again.

"I…I….I don't know…. I'm just…."

"Don't lie to me!" hissed Oliver. "Tell me where she is, damnit!"

The man's eyes were wide with terror. He could barely speak; just one more push and Oliver knew that he would crack.

"Tell me what I want to know, or I'll nail you to this wall!" he growled, pulling another arrow from his quiver and thrusting it under the man's chin.

"Okay, okay - I'll show you!" said the man, his voice shaking. "Just get that thing away from me!"

Oliver pulled the man from the wall, before propelling him forwards down the corridor. Grabbing his crossbow, he jammed its point into the small of the other man's back; given what had just happened, he wasn't prepared to take any chances.

"Move!"

The two moved off down the corridor. To Oliver's surprise, after a few seconds the man took a right turn. Oliver hadn't expected this; according to his intel, Chloe was more likely to be being held further on in a room off to the left. Perhaps his unexpected encounter with Lex's men might work out for the best after all, as long as his terrified captive wasn't leading him into a trap…..

The corridor they had turned into was short, a security door blocking their way at the far end.

"Open it!" ordered Oliver, jabbing the crossbow into the man's back to remind him of what was at stake.

His hand shaking, the man entered a code into the keypad to the left of the door, before the pushing it open. Oliver shoved him forwards, his senses alert to any potential danger. He was relieved to find that the corridor beyond was empty. It was short, and ran at right angles to the corridor they had just left. Four doors stood in front of them, two to the left and two to the right.

"Well – where is she?" demanded Oliver.

"On the right – she's in the room on the right."

Without a word, Oliver pulled the crossbow from the man's back and brought its butt crashing down on his head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious. Almost before he'd hit the ground Oliver was already at the door to Chloe's cell, his fingers on the handle. He didn't hesitate; his heart pounding, he flung it open and dashed inside.

_Chloe!_

He'd dreamt of this moment for so long, now it had finally arrived he could not quite believe it. He stood rooted to the spot, transfixed by the beautiful young woman who lay strapped to a gurney in front of him. The last time he'd seen her it was he who had been tied up, helpless as Lex had pumped that lethal cocktail of drugs into his body. Both had believed he was about to die, and Oliver could still see Chloe's tear stained face as she had been forced to watch his execution. Neither could have imagined this moment, could have envisaged that they would be reunited, have the chance to be with one another once more. It was the stuff of fairy tales, but this was no story. This was real – wonderfully, joyously, miraculously, overwhelmingly _real!_

He stood over her. Her eyes were closed, her features still. He was suddenly overcome with a huge wave of emotion. All the planning, all the dreaming, the hoping – it had all been for this. Tears welled up in his eyes. Could any man love a woman as much as he loved Chloe at that moment? He doubted it, his heart overflowing as he stared down at his very own Sleeping Beauty…..

Silently, gently, he placed his lips against hers. He kissed her with a tenderness, a delicacy, that spoke of two souls reunited – lovers who had found each other once more.

She stirred. Oliver watched as her eyes opened, watched as they struggled to focus on his face…..

"Oliver…..?" she whispered. It was clear that she'd been heavily sedated, but Oliver's heart leapt as she spoke his name.

"It's me, Chloe – I'm here!" he said, the tears flowing readily down his cheeks. "It's going to be okay now, I promise!"

"Oliver…?!" she repeated. She appeared confused, disorientated; whatever they'd given her, it had clearly messed with her mind. "But it can't be….. You're…."

"It's me!" he said, kissing her a second time, this time on the forehead. "I'm here now, and I promise I'll never leave you again!"

He released the straps which held her down and then took her in his arms. She had never looked so fragile, clinging on to him like a baby and burying her head in his chest. It didn't matter; she was alive – and he was going to save her.

"You're safe now," he said, staring down at her. "We're going to find Clark, and then we're going to get you out of here."

"Clark? No… no, not Clark!" she mumbled, suddenly distressed.

"Ssshh, it's okay!" said Oliver, not understanding.

"No…. no, you don't understand!" said Chloe, struggling against his grip. "Clark – they've got to him! Go – go before he finds you!"

She looked up at him, eyes filled with fear. Oliver was suddenly filled with a great sense of foreboding. What had Lex been up to here all these months? What had he done to Clark?

He was to have his answer sooner than he thought.

"Hello, Oliver – long time no see."

Oliver turned. There, filling the doorway, was the other person he'd come to save – only by his appearance it was clear that no rescue was necessary.

"Clark!"

* * *

><p>Ollie's found Chloe - but what's happened to Clark! More shocks to come, I promise - you know that nothing is ever easy in one of my stories! I hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. The guys back in action (and I love writing AC - after Oliver, my favorite!), a rescue, a twist, a cliffie - what more could you want?<p>

Thanks for reading, and of course a massive thankyou to my amazing reviewers - you are as awesome as you always are! Please do leave some feedback if you can - it doesn't take long, but I really do appreciate it so much!


	16. Chapter 16: Hero versus Hero

**Chapter Sixteen: Hero versus Hero**

"Clark!"

Oliver stared at his old friend. He hoped his instincts were wrong, that Chloe's warning of seconds earlier was just the product of a mind addled by the effects of months of sedation. Within seconds, however, he knew the truth. Clark didn't need to say anything; Oliver could see it in his eyes. The warmth of the old Clark was gone, to be replaced by something colder, harder. It was a look he'd seen before, in the eyes of the teenager who'd betrayed him. The impossible had happened; Clark, like Bart before him, had been turned.

"Clark, it's me, Oliver," he said, hoping for some flicker of recognition.

"I know who you are," replied Clark, a strange smile forming on his lips. "They told me you were dead – soon you'll wish you were."

It was a devastating statement, made all the more so by the matter of fact way in which it was delivered. Both men knew that Oliver was cornered. He couldn't escape; even if he tried, Clark's powers meant that defeat was certain. Clark held all the cards, and all that Oliver could do was play for time – that, and hope against hope that maybe somewhere something of the old Clark remained.

"Clark, listen to me," he said, trying to hide his growing sense of panic. "We're here to help you. Lex has done something to you, drugged you, but we can….."

"Don't listen to him!" interrupted a voice from the corridor beyond. The man in the white coat who had led Oliver to Chloe appeared next to Clark. Breathing heavily, he was clutching his head, a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. "Kill him, Clark - Kill him!"

"Kill him?" repeated Clark calmly, glancing at the man before turning back to Oliver. "But Oliver and I are old friends – why would I want to kill him?"

"That's right, Clark – we're old friends, remember?" said Oliver, grasping for something, anything, that might give him a way to break through to his old teammate.

"No, I think Mr Luthor would want Oliver alive," continued Clark, his smile morphing into a sickening grin. "Now put Chloe down – neither of us want to see her hurt, do we?"

Clark's words were chilling, their subtext all too clear. Chloe gripped Oliver more tightly; terrified, she could not even bring herself to look at Clark.

"Clark, please….."

"Put her down, Oliver – put her down or I _will_ hurt her."

Oliver had no choice. He felt physically sick, his head spinning as he tried to adjust to this new reality. Slowly, gently, he lay Chloe back onto the gurney. She tried to cling on to him, before pulling her legs up to her chest and rolling herself up into a ball.

"It's okay," whispered Oliver, stroking her hair. "I promise – it's going to be okay."

"Now kneel."

Oliver turned, taken aback by Clark's simple command.

"I said, kneel."

There was no anger in Clark's voice, just an overwhelming certainty that Oliver would comply. Logic said that he had to obey – anything else would be pointless.

"I won't kneel, Clark," replied Oliver, his jaw tightening. "Do what you want to me, but I won't kneel."

Clark smiled, Oliver's reluctance to do as he was told amusing him. "Kneel – unless you want Chloe to suffer."

_This is insane, _thought Oliver to himself. Clark - noble, incorruptible Clark –_ threatening Chloe!? _The man loved her, for God's sake – what the hell had Lex done to him to turn him into the cold eyed monster who now stood in front of him?

"You don't believe me?" continued Clark, stepping over to where Chloe lay on the gurney. "Shall we show him, Chloe? Shall we show Oliver what happens when people disobey me?"

Clark raised his hand. Chloe shrank from him, cowering in terror. Incredible as it seemed, Oliver realised that he intended to strike her; worse, he could see that this wasn't the first time…..

"Alright!" interrupted Oliver. "Alright! I'm doing it, okay? I'm kneeling."

Slowly, Oliver knelt down. Clark's grin widened; he was clearly getting a big kick out of controlling the young hero like a puppet on a string.

"Wise move, Oliver," he continued, his stillness unnerving. "I'd hate to have hurt Chloe again – not after all the progress we've made."

He reached down and slowly began to stroke her hair. Petrified, Chloe froze. Oliver could just make out the tears that were flowing down her cheeks. Immediately he understood – Clark had hurt her, hurt her in ways he didn't dare think about….

"Leave her alone!" he snapped, unable to bear what he was seeing for a moment longer.

"Leave her alone?" repeated Clark. "No – no, I don't think so. You see she's mine now, Oliver – I _own _her."

Horrified, Oliver watched as he then leaned down and kissed her on the head. There was no tenderness to the kiss, no love; instead it was a sign of possession, like an animal marking its territory.

"You could never give her what she really needs," said Clark, caressing Chloe's cheek. "But it's okay now, isn't it Chloe? We're together, just as it was always meant to be."

He lifted her chin, the predator who had snared his prey. A pair of wide, terrified eyes stared at Oliver, eyes that begged him to understand…..

"I'm sorry, Oliver," she sobbed. "I'm sorry…"

It was too much for Oliver. He didn't care that Clark was a hundred times stronger than he was, that the Kryptonian could kill him in an instant. He couldn't let him touch Chloe like that, see the look of utter terror in her eyes. After all he'd been through, to have his dream snatched away from him in the cruellest way imaginable – no, no it was too much to bear. He had to save her, protect her; at that moment, nothing else mattered in the entire world.

He threw himself at Clark, the force of the impact propelling the two men into the wall. Without hesitation Oliver then began to rain blows down on Clark, punching him time and time again with all the strength he could muster. To an outsider it would have seemed a frenzied, brutal assault, Oliver pummelling the other man until his fists were raw and bloodied. Clark did nothing, not even bothering to try to shield himself from the attack. All he did was grin, waiting for his old friend to exhaust himself. Nearly a minute passed before Oliver began to tire. He looked into Clark's eyes, almost hoping that he might somehow have beaten Lex's drugs out of his system. He hadn't, of course; nothing of the old Clark remained. Now there was just this monster, and there was nothing he could do to stop him….

Shattered, at last Oliver stopped, slumping forwards into the arms of the man who by any logic should by now have been lying broken and bloodied on the floor. Instead it was Oliver who was finished, Clark the one who appeared fresh and unharmed.

"Clark….," he whispered, panting for air. "Clark, please…"

Clark reached out and grabbed Oliver by the neck. He then lifted him high into the air, holding him aloft like some trophy.

"Have you finished, Oliver?" he asked, watching as the other man clawed at his neck, trying to loosen his grip. "Because now it's my turn."

He hurled Oliver through the air, sending him crashing into a wall. Oliver slumped to the floor, crying out in pain. He tried to pull himself to his feet, but Clark was already standing over him, grabbing him by the neck once more and lifting him into the air.

"You know you can't beat me, Oliver," he said. "But you just had to be the hero, didn't you? A hero – and a loser."

He smashed Oliver against the wall, before pulling him away and hurling him across the room. Oliver crashed into a trolley containing an array of monitors and equipment, the whole lot clattering to the ground around him. Momentarily dazed, Oliver just caught sight of Chloe. Distraught, the tears were flowing down her cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word Clark was standing over him, blocking his view.

"She doesn't need you, Oliver," he said. "Only Lex wants you now – and even he doesn't care whether you're dead or alive."

He reached down and grabbed Oliver round the neck, lifting him off the floor. Balling his free hand into fist, he grinned as he stared down at his stricken captive.

"Say goodbye, Oliver," he said, pulling his arm back and preparing to strike….

"Hey Clark, what's up, bro?"

Everyone turned. There, standing tall so that he almost filled the doorway, stood AC.

Sensing danger, Clark immediately launched himself in Curry's direction. He knew the threat that AC posed, the water that still glistened on the young hero's arms and face serving as a warning that he was at the height of his powers. AC didn't wait for Clark to attack. Instead he threw himself at the kryptonian, the two impacting each other in a bone shattering collision. Gripping each other tightly, they scowled at each other for a few seconds, each man's face a picture of concentration and exertion as they struggled to gain the upper hand. Oliver held his breath, hardly daring to hope that AC would prevail. His prayers were answered, as finally AC forced Clark back. He lost his balance, which was all the opportunity AC needed. He grabbed Clark and threw him against the far wall with such force that he went straight through it. Plaster and masonry fell to the floor, sending up a cloud of dust and burying Clark in a pile of debris.

Breathing hard, AC stood ready, waiting for Clark to recover and come at him once more. Oliver staggered to his feet, both men watching Clark for any sign of movement.

"Thanks, man," gasped Oliver. "I owe you."

"Figured you might need some help," replied AC, his features grim. "But Clark – this is bad, bro."

"We need to get out of here," said Oliver, scooping Chloe up into his arms and making for the door.

"You go – I'll keep Clark busy."

Oliver stopped. The two men looked at each other, both understanding the meaning of AC's words. He was strong, far stronger than Oliver, but in a straight fight with Clark he would almost certainly lose. What he was suggesting wasn't just dangerous – it was potentially suicidal.

"We're leaving together, or none of us leaves," said Oliver.

Clark stirred. He was coming round – and time was running out.

"Take Chloe and get out of here!" said AC, his muscles tensing as Clark started to move.

Oliver hesitated. His heart was telling him to stay, but his head told him to go. Chloe was in a bad way, and if they all tried to run they would almost certainly be captured – or worse. AC was the only one who could contain Clark, buy them the time they needed to make their escape. It made sense – but that didn't make him feel any better.

"Go!" shouted AC.

Clark was hauling himself to his feet now, his features contorted with rage. He glared at AC, his eyes filled with hate…..

Oliver had no choice. Cradling Chloe in his arms, he fled from the room. Behind him he heard Clark roar with anger, and then the sound of falling masonry as the fight resumed.

As Oliver ran down the corridor he could see AC's face in his mind's eye, demanding that he leave.

He prayed it wasn't the last time he would see AC alive.

* * *

><p>A short chapter, but you know me - can't resist a cliffhanger! Will Ollie and Chloe escape? Will AC survive? I'm afraid you'll have to wait for the answers, as real life is starting to crowd back in. Hope you enjoyed this one - please do post a review if you can, because every bit of feedback is massively appreciated!<p> 


	17. Chapter 17: One Step Forward

**Chapter Seventeen: One Step Forward….**

_You did it, Oliver. You kept your promise – you saved her._

He still couldn't quite believe it. After all those long months spent apart, dreaming of this moment but fearing it might never come, here they were, reunited once more. It didn't seem real, and as he stared down at Chloe he half expected to wake up at any moment and find it was all a dream. She was sleeping now, and as he watched her it was as if the months of terror and despair just melted away. She looked just as she'd looked all those times he'd woken up beside her, before this nightmare began; so beautiful it almost took his breath away. Was it too much to hope that now, after all they had suffered, they would be able to recapture some of the magic of those days when their love for each other had been untainted by Luthor's ruthless desire for revenge? He hardly dared to hope that his dreams of their life together would at last become reality…

Four hours had passed since they had returned to Oliver's base. Chloe had fallen asleep the moment her head hit the pillow, exhausted by a combination of the drugs that had been used to sedate her and the exhilaration of escape. Once they'd left the cell in which she'd been held it had been remarkably easy to make their way to the perimeter of the facility, helped no doubt by some well-timed explosions courtesy of his teammates. Roy had been waiting to meet them, and together they had slipped away unseen. It had been a textbook operation, save for one thing:

AC was still missing.

Oliver could still hear the sound of his two friends fighting each other as he carried Chloe down that corridor. Clark, of course, was no longer a friend; his mind warped by Lex's drugs, he had been turned into a weapon of terrifying power. As he'd faced off against Clark in the cell he'd hoped that something of the gentle, warm hearted man he'd come to know and love remained, that maybe Luthor's drugs might have been less effective against someone who was, after all, not human. He was wrong. No trace of the old Clark was left; the person who now occupied his body was cold, a machine who would not hesitate to hurt or kill. To think that he was now under Lex's control – just the thought sent a shudder down Oliver's spine. He could only hope that AC had somehow made it out alive, but with every hour that passed that seemed less and less likely. AC was powerful, but in a straight fight with Clark Oliver knew who he'd put his money on. The grim reality was that his friend had almost certainly been captured – or worse.

Silently, Oliver got to his feet. He paused, waiting to see if his movement had disturbed Chloe. Satisfied that she was still asleep, he turned and slowly made his way out of the room.

Closing the door behind him, Oliver strode down the corridor in the direction of the large, open plan area that acted as his base's center of operations. On entering he found Roy staring at a bank of screens, watching for any sign of AC.

"Anything?" asked Oliver, joining Roy at the control desk.

"Nothing," replied Roy. "His com link is still down. I've tried everything - satellite tracking, local surveillance systems, the works. I can't find him, Oliver – it's as if he disappeared off the face of the earth."

Oliver sighed. "Keep trying," he said. "If anyone can make it out of there, it's AC."

"How's Chloe?"

"She's okay – she's still sleeping, but she's okay."

There was a pause. Roy could sense Oliver's relief at having Chloe back at last, but the concern he felt for AC was etched all over his face. It was as if they had taken one step forward, only then to take two steps back; not only was AC missing, but they now had to deal with the problem of Clark Kent working for Lex. Roy knew all about Clark's background, and about his superhuman strength. As an ally he would have made success against Lex all but certain, but now he was working for the other side that longed for victory had just got a whole lot harder.

"Oliver, Clark Kent," he began, looking up at the other man. "If he's as strong as you say he is, what are we going to do?"

Oliver did not reply, his eyes remaining fixed on the screens in front of him. He appeared lost in thought, the furrows in his brow deepening as he pondered some as yet unspoken dilemma…..

"There is a way to stop Clark," he said at last, breaking the silence. He spoke cautiously, almost as if he were thinking out loud. "There's a meteor rock, Kryptonite – if Clark's exposed to it he loses all his powers."

Roy's spirits lifted a little. "This rock – where do we find it? I've never heard of it before."

"That's just it – I don't know," said Oliver. "The rock is extremely rare. Last time I looked, there were only two known fragments on public display – one in London, the other in Tokyo. Now Lex knows we know about Clark, my guess is he'll take steps to acquire those samples – he won't want to leave any loose ends that could threaten his control over Clark."

"In other words, we're screwed."

Oliver forced a smile. "It's not over yet, Roy – though I gotta tell you, we're in serious trouble."

"Lex has some Kryptonite."

Both men turned, startled by the sound of a female voice.

"_Chloe!"_

Oliver's heart leapt at the sight of his lover, who stood framed in the doorway that led to the sleeping quarters. She looked frail, but otherwise okay, even managing to smile weakly at the reaction of the two men.

Oliver rushed towards her. He moved just in time; she began to sway slightly, as if she might fall. Then his powerful arms enveloped her, steadying her and pulling her close. He was her protector once more, and nothing – no-one – would come between them again.

"Why are you out of bed?" he asked, gently admonishing her but at the same time glad to see her up and about once more. "You need rest, Chloe – we can take care of Clark."

"He's evil, Oliver," said Chloe, her fear almost palpable. "Lex has changed him – made him a monster!"

"Sshhh," said Oliver, pulling her head against his chest and trying to calm her. "It's okay, yeah? You're safe now – no one's gonna hurt you."

Gently, he kissed her on the crown of her head. He could feel her heart pumping in her chest, sense her anxiety at the thought of Clark. What had happened to her in that prison? What had Lex and Clark done to her?

"You need to get Lex's kryptonite," continued Chloe, lifting her head and staring up at him. She spoke quietly, but with a great sense of urgency, as if even the slightest delay could lead to disaster. "He keeps it at his facility in Foxville – I overheard him talking to one of his scientists about it once. You need to get it, Oliver – it's our only chance!"

"We will, Chloe, we will – I promise!" replied Oliver, again trying to reassure her. "Now I want you to go back to bed and rest. I need my Watchtower fully fit, yeah? Roy and I will handle this – everything's under control."

"Hey bro, what about me?"

As one, all three turned towards the sound of a familiar voice. AC stood in the doorway at the far side of the room, grinning broadly.

"What the…?" said Oliver, not quite believing what he was seeing.

"You thought they'd got me? Dude, you should know better by now – no one takes the Aquaman!" said AC, walking towards them with a swagger born of a man who had once again cheated fate. He seemed relaxed, brim full of confidence, but his appearance told another story. His costume was ripped and torn, and blood oozed from cuts to his arms and a deep gash to his chest.

"How did you escape Clark?" asked Oliver, his amazement turning to relief.

"It was hard, bro – seriously hard," replied AC, mention of their former teammate causing his face to darken a shade. "He beat me up pretty bad, but I managed to make it to the river – Clark might be strong, but once I got to the water he was nowhere."

"Were you followed?"

"No way – I made sure of that. That's why I've been out of contact for so long – didn't want to get in touch until I was sure I'd shaken them off."

There was a slight pause, the two men staring at each other. Both knew how the other was feeling, their relief tempered with the knowledge that in Clark they now faced an enemy more powerful than they'd ever faced before. But that could wait – now they could just be thankful that they'd all made it back in one piece.

They embraced, hugging tightly and slapping each other on the back.

"It's good to have you back," said Oliver.

"Good to be back, dude."

"I've got a fix on Lex's facility at Foxville," said Roy, staring at one of the computer screens lined up in front of him. "Security looks tight – maybe even tighter than Facility 51."

Chloe and the two men joined him, all four looking up at the satellite image of what they now knew was to be their next target.

"Guess I'd better change my suit," quipped AC, glancing down at his torn tunic. "Don't want Lex thinking I don't care."

"We'll move in six hours," said Oliver. "Once we've got our hands on one of those meteor rocks then we go after Clark."

"Be careful, Oliver," whispered Chloe, clutching his arm tightly. "If I lose you again…."

"You won't," interrupted Oliver, taking her head in his hands and staring deep into her eyes. "We're going to get that kryptonite and then we're going to get Clark and make him better, do you hear? It's going to be okay, Chloe – I promise, everything's going to be okay."

Oliver spoke with such certainty he almost convinced himself, but as he kissed Chloe on the lips he knew that success was very far from certain. This time they'd been lucky, but luck couldn't last forever. Deep down a voice was telling him that next time would be different:

Next time Lex and Clark would be ready for them.

* * *

><p>Did you think I'd given up?<p>

It's come close, I have to say - life has been so crazy recently, finding any time to write has been almost impossible. Sorry this chapter is so short, but I thought I had better get something out there, otherwise the story was going to die. Big twists- HUGE twists - lie ahead - I've just got to find the time to write them!

If you are still reading, thank you - your patience is appreciated! Please do post a review if you can - feedback is the incentive I need to get writing again!


	18. Chapter 18: Watchtower is Online

**Chapter 18: Watchtower is Online**

Oliver crouched low in the undergrowth, his eyes focused intently on the scene in front of him. A few hundred yards away, protected by a high perimeter fence, stood the cluster of anonymous looking buildings that together made up Lex's Foxville facility. It was just like any other LuthorCorp operation, the level of security the only sign to the outside world that hidden within the collection of nondescript warehouses was something that their owner would rather keep hidden. And security _was _tight – far tighter than at Facility 51. Signs on the fence warned of the thousands of volts that would prove lethal to anyone foolish enough to touch, and guard towers stood watch over the whole area, each manned by uniformed goons armed with machine guns. Everything was lit up by powerful lights mounted high on posts, so strong that the place must have been visible miles away. Foxville certainly _appeared _impregnable, but that was all about to change…..

Oliver glanced at his watch:

03:59.

Just one minute to go now – one minute before all hell broke loose…..

His heart beat quickening in expectation of what was to come, he looked down and checked his equipment one last time. Everything was in place, just as he knew it would be; meticulous in his preparation, he'd never yet gone on a mission without checking and double checking his kit at least a dozen times. This was no ordinary mission, of course. The stakes couldn't have been higher, and Oliver knew all too well that if he failed the consequences would be dire. Lex was coming for him now, and with Clark under his control it would only be a matter of time before he found him. They'd been lucky first time round, but their luck was unlikely to hold a second time. He didn't dare think of what might happen if they fell into Lex's hands once more. He had no fear for himself – he'd been through so much he felt now as if he could endure any torture, any torment. But the thought of his friends being taken, of Roy and AC suffering what he had suffered…..

And then there was Chloe. What if she was taken? What would Lex do to her? To have waited so long to get her back, only to lose her once more…

He dismissed the thought from his mind. It wasn't going to happen – none of it was going to happen. They were going to retrieve the kryptonite and use it to capture Clark, Emil was going to turn Clark and Bart back to their old selves, and together they were going to finish Lex once and for all. Everything was going to work out – he couldn't have come this far for it to do anything else.

"_Arrow, do you copy?"_

The sound of AC's voice in his earpiece dismissed any lingering sense of doubt from Oliver's mind. The mission was about to begin – he could worry about the future later.

"Hearing you loud and clear, Aquaman."

"_Everything's sweet here, bro – I set the charges just like we said. All good with you?"_

"I'm in position."

"_Then let's light this place up, dude! "_

A split second later and the sound of a massive explosion shattered the silence. The ground under Oliver's feet seemed to shake, and away over to his left there was a flash of light, followed by the sound of alarms blaring all over the compound. Oliver waited, watching motionless as guards poured from a number of the buildings and began to run towards the sight of the explosion. It was a classic diversion, and so far it was working exactly as they'd planned. Just one more piece of the jigsaw to fall into place….

All over the compound the lights flickered, and then went out. The whole area was suddenly plunged into darkness, save for the flames which were now licking high into the air at the site of the explosion. Oliver smiled. AC had done it again – provided the perfect cover for his own attack.

Emerging from his hiding place, he ran swiftly to the base of the perimeter fence. He glanced up at the watchtower, making sure that his approach had gone unobserved. As expected, the guard was preoccupied with the drama that was going on on the far side of the compound. Picking up a stone, he threw it at the wire, checking that the electricity supply to the fence had been cut. Satisfied that there was no danger, he began to work swiftly to fix two small explosive charges to the wire. He then withdrew a couple of paces, all the time keeping one eye on the watchtower which stood only a few dozen yards away. The charges detonated, but could barely be heard above the deafening sound of the sirens. Oliver moved forward, pulling the wire away so that he could squeeze through the gap he had created.

He was in.

Checking to his left and right for any sign of Luthor's men, he began to run towards his target, a large building about a hundred yards from the fence. He almost made it, before he heard a shout away to his right. Instinctively he dived away to his left, rolling across the grass just as a hail of bullets hit the ground a few feet from his position. Leaping to his feet, he spun round and fired his crossbow upwards in the direction of the watchtower. The bolt found its mark; there was a cry of pain, before a figure toppled forwards and plunged to the ground.

Oliver paused, crouching low and alert to the slightest movement. The adrenalin was pumping hard now, his body tense as he waited to see if his arrival had attracted the attention of any more of the guards. He was in luck; after ten seconds or so it was clear no one else was coming to investigate the burst of gunfire.

"Red Arrow, do you read me?"

"_Hearing you loud and clear."_

"Is the target clear?"

"_Affirmative, Arrow. No hostiles are showing on my scans – looks like Aquaman has their undivided attention."_

Oliver smiled. AC kicking some LuthorCorp ass, Roy watching over them from base; it almost felt like old times again.

"I'm going in – Arrow out."

Oliver pulled open the door. He took a deep breath, and then stepped inside.

* * *

><p><em>Red Arrow.<em>

It had been his codename for a day or so now, but Roy still got a kick from hearing Oliver use it. Along with the leather uniform that he was wearing, it felt like another rite of passage, another sign that he had been accepted as a fully-fledged member of the Justice League. And he _did_ feel part of the team now, not the semi-detached teenager who had first arrived at Oliver's new base five months earlier. He felt more confident, more certain of his place in Oliver's world. AC had helped, of course. He'd been nervous meeting one of the founding members of the League, worried that the big guy with the incredible powers would resent him, see him as some sort of substitute for a Bart who had gone rogue. He needn't have worried; AC couldn't have been more welcoming, the two of them quickly sharing jokes and play fighting as if they'd been friends for years. The mission to Facility 51 had also helped him to feel more sure of himself. Costumes, codenames, kind words – they were all great, but nothing could equal the buzz he'd got from taking part in his first operation against LuthorCorp. He'd felt so proud fighting alongside his new teammates, proud to play his part in Chloe's rescue. The fact that the mission had been a success, and that they'd all got back in one piece – well, that just added to his sense of satisfaction, of a job well done. He was part of the League now, and he could honestly say he'd never felt better in his life.

The Facility 51 operation had seen him out in the field, but for this mission his role was to remain at base, acting as Oliver and AC's eyes and ears. He did feel a little disappointed not to be joining the guys at the sharp end, but he knew that his job was important; without the benefit of the information provided by Oliver's satellites his friends would be going in blind. He was needed in front of these computer screens; they were relying on him, and he knew better than to let his own desire for action jeopardise the success of the mission.

In front of him he could see the mission unfolding. AC, represented by a bright orange dot on the screen, appeared surrounded by LuthorCorp guards on one side of the compound. His position looked serious, but Roy knew better than to worry; AC was more than able to see off a couple of dozen of Lex's goons, and by drawing their fire he was allowing Oliver to complete his mission. Oliver, too, could be seen on the screen, the green dot which represented him moving quickly through the large building which their intel suggested must contain the meteor rock. The building was deserted, save for Oliver himself – everything was going just as they'd planned it.

Suddenly a shadow fell over the screen. Roy looked up, to find Chloe standing at his side.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"Oliver's moving in on the target," replied Roy, nodding towards the green dot. "AC's keeping Lex's men busy, so he shouldn't have any trouble getting his hands on the rock."

Chloe didn't reply. Roy sensed her moving behind him, presumably to get a better look at the screen.

"Oliver's going to be glad to see you up and about – you really had him worried there for a minute," continued Roy, his eyes still fixed on the action taking place in front of him. Had he turned, he would have seen Chloe pulling a length of plastic cord from her pocket, her hands pulling it taut….

"You guys are so good together, you know that? He loves you so….."

Roy didn't get to finish his sentence, his words cut short as suddenly Chloe looped the cord around his neck and pulled it tight. For a split second he was so shocked he didn't react, but then his hands reached up to his neck, clawing away at the cord which now threatened to throttle him. He was too late; Chloe had pulled it so tight there was no way he could lever his fingers under it to clear his airway.

She was strangling him – _Chloe was strangling him!_

Roy panicked. He kicked out, hoping somehow to throw Chloe off balance. It didn't work; instead the cord seemed to tighten around his neck. His tried to reach behind him, to grab her and throw her off, but again his efforts came to nothing, his hands flailing pointlessly against her body. Increasingly desperate, he again tried to pull the cord free of his windpipe, but Chloe responded by pulling it even tighter. He wanted to cry out, to plead with her, but he couldn't. For a split second he caught sight of her face, reflected in one of the computer screens in front of him. She appeared emotionless, her features fixed in a blank expression even as she squeezed the life out of him.

_Lex has got to her – just like Clark and Bart, Lex has got to her!_

He was feeling light headed now, his strength fading fast. One thought suddenly took hold of him:

_Oliver – I must warn Oliver!_

He reached out towards the console in front of him, his hand straining for the distress button which would warn Oliver and AC that the base was under attack. For a brief, agonising moment he thought he was going to reach it, before Chloe realised what he was trying to do. Abruptly she jerked him backwards, almost causing the chair to topple over.

"Good try, kid," said Chloe, her voice cold and hard. "Good – but not good enough."

Roy barely heard her. His brain, starved of oxygen, felt as if it was going to explode. His muscles went limp, his arms falling uselessly to his sides. He just caught sight of the green dot which represented Oliver still showing brightly on his screen, before his eyelids flickered, and everything went black.

Chloe did not immediately loosen her grip. She continued to hold the cord tight around the teenager's neck for another five or six seconds, until she was confident that Roy really was out for the count. She then pulled the chair back and pushed him forwards, so that he toppled lifelessly to the floor.

Moving swiftly, Chloe took Roy's place at the desk. Her face a picture of concentration, she began to type furiously at the keyboard. A second or two later and a number of files appeared on one of the screens. She studied them for a moment, as if she were searching for something. Then she found it:

_DR EMIL HAMILTON_

Pulling a flash drive from her pocket, she plugged it into the computer. She then began to download the contents of the file, watching impassively as the green bar edged steadily towards completion.

"_Red Arrow, do you read me?"_

Oliver's voice sounded loud and clear over the com link. Chloe didn't hesitate; calmly she put on a headset and opened up a channel.

"Arrow, this is Watchtower. What is your status?"

"_Watchtower? Chloe, is that you?"_

"It is, and you should know better than to break protocol and use my name on a mission," she replied playfully, as if she were scolding a naughty child. She sounded supremely relaxed and in control, just like the Watchtower of old; there was nothing in her words or how she spoke that gave even the slightest clue that something might be wrong.

"_Where's Red Arrow?"_

Chloe glanced down at Roy, his body slumped awkwardly at her feet.

"He had to go – message from Emil."

"_Now who's breaking protocol?"_

"Okay, okay – you got me!" she replied, her words as natural and unforced as they had ever been. "Have you found the kryptonite yet?"

"_Negative. But I think I'm close – I'm just going to move towards the primary target now."_

Chloe looked at the screen that gave AC and Oliver's locations. Oliver's green dot was still flashing strongly, but now a dozen or so other dots could be seen, rapidly closing in on his position.

"The coast is clear, Arrow," she said confidently, a half smile forming on her lips. "You have permission to proceed."

* * *

><p>Lex has got to Chloe!<p>

You know I like twists, but this has to be one of my favorites - did you see it coming? It makes sense, of course - Chloe has spent five months locked away in a LuthorCorp facility, after all. It also sets up all sorts of possibilities for the second half of the story, and allows me to move the angst dial to the max!

On a different note, anyone watching Arrow? If you are not, please give it a try - it's great! So much action and drama, I'm loving it. I'm still loyal to Justin, and it broke my heart when he wasn't cast. However, Stephen Amell is great, so I've just about got over the absence of Justin (helped by the fact that he's moved on to a new role too).

I'll try to get the next chapter up soon -more unexpected twists ahead, I promise. Thanks to all those who are still taking time to review - you guys are amazing! Please do leave some feedback if you can - even a few words can really inspire me and make my day!


	19. Chapter 19: Teamwork

**Chapter 19: Teamwork**

Oliver was in the fight of his life.

They'd fell on him without warning, just as he'd reached the strong room at the heart of the building. With hindsight he should have known something was wrong. The empty corridors he'd passed through to reach his destination had been a little _too _empty; deliberately left clear, no doubt, to draw him in. The ambush had been prepared well, Luthor's men lying in wait until he'd reached the door to the strong room and had no means of escape. Then they had emerged from their hiding places, a dozen men pumped up on adrenalin and all pointing their semi-automatic weapons directly at his head. They could have killed him then, but once again Lex's desire to take him alive had given him the chance he'd needed. Their leader had ordered him to lay down his weapons, but barely had the words left the man's mouth when an arrow from Oliver's crossbow impaled itself in his chest. He'd managed to take down three or four of the others before they were on top of him, making use of his bow impossible. Now it was down to hand to hand combat, and with eight against one, the odds hadn't look good.

That was a minute ago, and in that time Oliver had already taken out five of his remaining attackers. Five months of hard training had not only made him stronger than he'd ever been before, but also faster on his feet. The guys he was up against were fit, but the speed with which he moved left them looking flat footed and clumsy. Well placed kicks to the head had sent three of them crashing to the floor unconscious, whilst the other two had been felled with a couple of devastating punches. So far they'd barely managed to land a blow on him, but that was about to change. Maybe he'd started to get over-confident, or maybe he was beginning to tire; whatever the reason, as he exchanged punches with two of the men he failed to notice the third getting round behind him. Suddenly he felt a sharp blow to the back of his head, probably from the butt of the man's gun. He fell forward, momentarily knocked off balance. It was all the opportunity Lex's men needed. Two of them grabbed him, each taking hold of one of his arms and holding him fast. Before Oliver had chance to react the third drove his fist hard into his gut. It was a crippling blow, so strong it caused the young hero to double up in agony. Seeing he had the upper hand, the man didn't hesitate. Again he punched Oliver in the stomach, this time causing him to gasp in pain.

"Do you like that, motherfucker? Do you? Do you like it?" he shouted, pumped up on the excitement of the moment. He then began to pound Oliver repeatedly in the stomach, smashing his fist time and time again into his abs. It was a brutal assault, but there was nothing Oliver could do to protect himself; held fast by the other two men, all he could do was absorb the blows as best he could, and hope that at some point he'd get an opportunity to turn the tables.

At last, after twenty or thirty blows to his gut, his attacker relented, his energy spent. Satisfied that their prey was subdued, the two men who had held Oliver let him go. Seemingly exhausted, Oliver slumped to his knees, his head resting on his heaving chest as he tried to force air into his battered body.

"Not so tough now, leather boy," sneered his attacker, himself breathless after the beating he'd just administered. "Nixon, call it in – tell them we've got the archer."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," whispered Oliver, his words almost inaudible.

"What was that?" asked the man, glancing at his colleagues. "Did leather boy speak?"

"Maybe he wants some more," replied one of them. All three grinned; they felt in control, the men who had captured the Green Arrow.

"I said, I wouldn't do that if I were you," repeated Oliver, slowing lifting his head and fixing his captors with an ice cold stare.

"Yeah? Why's that?" said his attacker, squatting down in front of Oliver. Tilting his head slightly to one side, he peered at the young hero, obviously enjoying the moment; he appeared oblivious to the danger that was now just a second or two away….

"Well, come on then," he asked impatiently. "Why shouldn't I call it in, pretty boy?"

There was pause for a moment, the two men staring at each other.

_"Because you haven't got me."_

Before the other man could react, Oliver head butted him in the face. He cried out in pain, clasping his hands to his nose and falling backwards. The other two guards were taken by surprise, but soon recovered. They made to grab Oliver, but he was too quick for them. Leaping to his feet as though nothing had happened, he felled each of them with two kicks to the head. Barely had they hit the floor and Oliver was standing over their leader, staring down impassively at the man who moments earlier had held him captive.

"Fuck you!" gurgled the man, blood spurting from his mouth. "Lex is gonna kill you – you and your band of fucking….."

He didn't get chance to finish, a swift kick to the head knocking him unconscious.

Oliver made his way to the strong room door. His abdominal muscles felt as if they were on fire, but he blanked out the pain; all that mattered now was to get the kryptonite. The ambush had thrown him dangerously off schedule, and he knew that if he didn't work quickly both he and AC would be in a whole heap of trouble. The humming sound emanating from his earpiece told him that coms were down, presumably due to some jamming system activated by Lex's team; he'd heard nothing from either AC or Chloe for the best part of ten minutes. Things were starting to fall apart – he needed to get the rock and get out fast…..

Tense in expectation of the hidden dangers that might lurk beyond the door, Oliver reached for the handle. Much to his surprise, he found it wasn't locked. A stroke of luck, or another trap? He didn't have time to wonder, but instead flung open the door and hurled himself inside, crossbow at the ready.

He found himself in what seemed to be a small anteroom. Opposite the entrance he'd just come through stood a massive steel door, presumably the entrance to the vault. Relieved that there was no welcoming party to greet him, Oliver immediately made his way to it. Pulling a small black box from his tunic, he placed it next to the keypad adjacent to the door. He pressed a button on its side, and waited. Six seconds later a high pitched whine told him that the box had done its work – the vault's security system had been overridden.

Grabbing hold of the handle to the vault, he hauled the heavy steel door open and stepped inside. Immediately his heart sank. The place was empty – just highly polished steel walls and a solitary table that stood alone in the center of the room. There was no sign of any meteor rock.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

Oliver spun round. There, framed in the doorway, stood Clark, a small black box clasped in his right hand. Oliver recognised it immediately – it was a lead box, the one material that could protect Clark from the crippling effects of kryptonite…..

"We wondered how long it would take you to get here," continued Clark, grinning malevolently. "Good work with those guards, by the way – all that training really makes a difference, doesn't it?"

"Clark…."

"Save it, Oliver – I've heard it all before, remember? Now put down that crossbow – you might hurt someone."

Slowly Oliver lowered his crossbow, before placing it carefully on the floor. It was all too obvious now that he'd walked into a trap; all he could do was hope that once again he'd get that one lucky break that he needed to escape.

"How's Chloe? I hope you've been looking after her, Oliver – you know how much she means to me."

Oliver's jaw tightened. He didn't know exactly what Clark had done to Chloe during their time together in captivity, but the terror in Chloe's eyes every time Clark's name was mentioned gave him a pretty good idea. Clark was baiting him, he knew that – he was damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Clark walked forward. Slowly he began to circle Oliver, savouring the power he now had over his former friend.

"Look at you – and to think we used to see you as our leader," he said mockingly. "No abilities, no powers – just a pretty face and a pair of leather pants. Well now it's over, Oliver – Luthor's going to kill you, and this time they'll be no miracle, no return from the dead."

He stopped immediately in front of Oliver. The two men stared at each other for a few moments, one defiant, the other triumphant.

"You're finished, Ollie," said Clark, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'm the future now - with Chloe at my side, there's nothing I can't do!"

"You can't make her love you."

Clark laughed. It was a strange, unsettling sound, and one which caused a shudder to run down Oliver's spine.

"Really? Oh, Oliver – if only you knew! Now turn around – time we got you ready to meet Lex."

Slowly, Oliver did as he was told. As he did so he just saw Clark placing the box on the table out of the corner of his eye. He knew instantly that this was his chance – it was a desperate longshot, but there was no alternative….

"Hands behind your back."

Oliver reached behind him, as if he were about to do as he'd been told. Then, without warning, he suddenly threw his entire body weight sideways and into the table. As he'd hoped, the force of the impact sent the lead box clattering to the floor. Oliver made a grab for it, but Clark was too quick for him; no sooner had Oliver's fingers made contact with the box and he found himself being grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hurled high into the air. He hit one of the walls with a sickening thud, coming to rest in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Oliver, Oliver, please!" said Clark, grabbing him and flipping him over on to his stomach. "You know you can't escape – why make it difficult for yourself?"

Dazed, Oliver could offer no resistance as Clark knelt down and straddled him, his thighs pressing hard against his sides. He felt his hands being grabbed and forced roughly into the small of his back, before a pair of metal cuffs were secured around his wrists.

"Clark, don't do this," he gasped, still winded from his collision with the wall. "We can help you – Emil, he can….."

Oliver's words were cut off abruptly as Clark stuffed a balled up piece of rag into his mouth. He then fixed it in place with another piece of material, tied tightly around the back of his head.

"That's better!" said Clark, grabbing Oliver's hair and pulling his head from the floor as if it were some sort of trophy. "You always did talk too much, Oliver – way too much."

He then smashed Oliver's skull down hard onto the floor. Oliver cried out, the sound of his pain muffled by the gag.

"Aww, did that hurt?" sneered Clark. "Better get used to it, Oliver – something tells me you're gonna suffer a whole lot more than that before this thing is over."

"Guys, guys – is this a private party, or can anyone join in?"

Now it was Clark's turn to be taken by surprise. He turned, to find AC towering over him.

"Great game, Clark – but I don't think Ollie wants to play anymore."

Before Clark had time to react he grabbed him and flung him across the room. Clark landed heavily, but in an instant he was on his feet. He charged at AC, the two men barrelling into the wall with such force the steel buckled from the impact. Clark recovered first. He aimed a punch at AC's head, but AC saw it coming; he ducked out of the way, Clark's fist instead smashing a hole in the wall. AC then threw himself at Clark, forcing him to the floor. The two men began to wrestle with each other, rolling from one side to the other as each fought to gain the upper hand.

Oliver knew he didn't have much time; AC was strong, but he wouldn't be able to hold off Clark for long. His head still spinning from Clark's assault, he rolled himself onto his side. Pulling against the cuffs, he twisted his right wrist so that it was at right angles to his arm, his fingers straining for the tiny lock pick he kept hidden in his gauntlet. It was painful, but he found it. He began to work on the lock to the cuffs, glancing across at AC and Clark as he did so. He could see that AC was tiring; he needed to work quickly, before it was too late….

Clark knew he was winning. AC was weakening by the second, the relentless pounding he was receiving from Clark taking its toll. A well placed punch to the face brought an end to his resistance, Clark pinioning him to the floor as he had done to Oliver just moments earlier. The two men stared at each other, their chests heaving from exhaustion.

"You're good, AC," said Clark. "Shame you're on the wrong side – the two of us could have made a great team."

"Yeah? I thought we had a team already, Clark – we're called the good guys, remember?"

Clark grinned. "The good guys? I gotta tell you, AC – bad guys have a lot more fun!"

He then reached down and grabbed the knife that AC kept strapped to his lower leg, pulling it from its sheath. He held it up in front of AC, smiling as he saw the look of apprehension that flashed across his former friend's face.

"Lex wants you alive, but he never said what condition you had to be in," he said, looking down at the other man. "How about we see just how sharp this knife of yours is?"

AC's eyes widened, his nervousness turning to fear. He knew that Lex's drugs had messed with Clark's head – what demons had they unleashed?

"Fish don't see too good, do they?" continued Clark, a look of pure evil forming on his face. "Let's see how you get on with only one eye."

He then plunged the knife downwards towards AC's right eye. AC responded instinctively, lightning reflexes allowing him to reach up and grab Clark's arm with the tip of the blade just inches from his face. Mustering every last ounce of strength in his body he fought to hold Clark off, but almost immediately he felt himself giving way. Clark was just too powerful – and with every second that passed the knife inched closer to his eye…

"Thought you were stronger than this, AC!" gloated Clark, his eyes flashing with excitement as he edged the knife closer and closer to its target. Sweat poured down the young hero's face, every muscle, every fiber of his being straining to stave off what both men knew was the inevitable. Clark felt exultant, high on his own sense of invincibility. AC, the mighty Aquaman, was defeated, utterly at his mercy. Lex was right – there really was nothing he could not do, no one in the world who could stop him…..

Suddenly a wave of pain swept over him. It was a nauseating pain, a pain he knew only too well….

He turned, to find Oliver standing over him. In his hand he held the lump of kryptonite, its familiar green glow a visible explanation of the agony that now consumed him. He tried to speak, but no words would come. The knife dropped from his hand, before he rolled over onto the floor, gasping for breath.

Oliver offered his hand to AC.

"Thanks, bro," he said, grabbing it and hauling himself to his feet. "I owe you one."

"No, I owe _you _one," replied Oliver. The two men looked at each other for a moment. Both knew how close they'd come to disaster; both knew that without the other, the outcome of their encounter with Clark would have been very different.

"What now?" asked AC, glancing down at Clark. He was still conscious, but only just, the effects of the kryptonite poisoning robbing him of all his strength and leaving him crippled and helpless.

"Tie him up – we're taking him with us."

AC leaned down and flipped Clark over onto his stomach. "Sorry, dude, but it's for the best," he said, pulling Clark's hands into the small of his back and tying his wrists together with some plasticuffs.

Oliver heaved a sigh of relief. Somehow, despite everything, they'd succeeded – not only had they got the kryptonite, but they'd also got Clark. Once Emil had worked out how to reverse the effects of Lex's drugs then they really would be in the driving seat once more.

Their luck was holding – and he couldn't wait to share the news with Chloe.

* * *

><p>At last, another update! Sorry for the delay, but life still seems to be crazy busy and I'm not getting much time for writing. I hope you enjoyed this one - lots of action, and perhaps not quite what you were expecting. What will happen when they get Clark back to base? More shocks and surprises to come, I promise...<p>

Thanks for your continuing interest and support - your patience is amazing! Please do review if you can - feedback means a lot, and it will help to convince me you guys are still out there and still want more!


	20. Chapter 20: Captives

**Chapter Twenty: Captives**

"_Oliver!"_

Oliver looked up at the sound of Chloe's voice. A few seconds earlier he and AC had driven into the base, exhausted but relieved. It had been a close run thing, but they'd done it – not only had they succeeded in getting their hands on the meteor rock, but they'd also managed to seize Clark. Now, seeing the woman he loved running towards him, all the anxieties and fears of the previous days seemed to wash away. Chloe was safe, Clark was neutralised, and soon Emil would come up with a way to reverse the effects of Lex's drugs. It was going to be alright – despite everything, it really was going to be alright!

"Thank God you're safe," said Chloe, throwing herself into his arms and hugging him tightly. "When I lost contact I thought….. I thought…"

She stopped, the emotion of the moment too much. Tears flowed down her face and onto Oliver's tunic, mixing with the blood that oozed from a cut on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's okay!" whispered Oliver, cradling her head against his chest. "We're safe, yeah? Everything's going to be fine now – I promise."

"Did you find it?" she asked, her voice suddenly filled with urgency. "Did you find the kryptonite?"

"We did better than that, Chloe," he replied, smiling. "We've got Clark."

He turned and looked towards the rear of the car. Chloe turned too, just in time to see AC opening the trunk. He reached down and grabbed something heavy, before hauling it upwards and dragging it clear of the vehicle.

Chloe gasped. There, lying awkwardly on his side, was the unmistakable figure of Clark. His hands were tied behind his back, and further ropes bound his ankles together. Gagged with a strip of duct tape, he could not speak. He didn't need to: the hate and rage that flashed in his eyes was plain for all to see.

Chloe panicked. "Oliver, get him out of here!" she pleaded, recoiling from the kryptonian's stare. He'll kill us – he'll kill us all!"

"Ssshhhh," replied Oliver, trying to reassure her. "He can't hurt you now – look, the kryptonite has taken away his powers."

Sure enough, Clark was helpless. A lump of meteor rock hung from a chain around his neck. They all knew what kryptonite could do to Clark, but it was still shocking to see him brought low by its power. He looked sick, his pallor matching the greenish glow of the rock that now held him in its thrall. The ropes that he would normally have torn apart without a moment's thought now appeared to defeat him; he struggled even to move, lying like some wounded predator and awaiting his fate.

"Won't…. won't it kill him?" asked Chloe; she more than anyone knew how lethal kryptonite could be in the right quantity.

"Don't worry – he'll be okay," replied Oliver. "Once we get him to the containment room we'll be able to regulate his exposure to the rock. Just enough to stop him getting loose – no more, I promise."

Leaving Chloe, Oliver stepped over and squatted down beside Clark. He reached out and took hold of a corner of the duct tape, carefully pulling away the gag.

"I'm sorry we had to do this, Clark," he said. "Whatever Lex has done to you, we're going to fix it. Emil is working on an antidote – it won't be very long, you have my word."

"Fuck you!" hissed Clark. Despite everything, the other three were taken aback; the words seemed so out of place, so alien to the mild mannered, gentle Clark they had all come to know and love.

"I'm going to kill you for this, Oliver," he continued, his voice rasping and hoarse. "First I'm going to gut Curry like a fish, and then I'm going to fuck you up so bad you'll wish you'd never been born!"

Oliver stood up. "Let's get him to the cell," he said to AC, his features fixed in a look of grim resolution; Clark's words of warning were a chilling reminder that this thing was far from over.

Each man grabbed one of Clark's arms and began to drag him towards one of the doors. Clark did not struggle; nor did he say another word. Instead he looked at Chloe, the two of them exchanging a furtive glance as he was hauled away. Neither Oliver nor AC saw it, which was exactly as they intended; the stakes were too high for them to make a mistake now. Had the two young heroes caught that stolen look they would have seen not one mask slip, but two; the unspoken question on Clark's lips, and Chloe's cool nod of reassurance. Neither had expected it to work out like this; if everything had gone according to Lex's plan it would have been Oliver in chains by now, not Clark. But Chloe was unfazed – she knew what she had to do, and already her mind was at work, trying to figure out how best to turn the tables on her unsuspecting lover. It wouldn't be easy, not now Clark was a prisoner. However, it was clear that Oliver didn't suspect a thing. He'd fallen completely for her terrified damsel in distress routine, just as she knew he would; for him the ambush had been the product a coms failure, not a deliberate trap. She'd get another chance to take him down, she was sure of it – and then she would have the reward that Lex had promised.

She turned and headed towards the elevator which led to the basement. She needed time to think, but in the meantime there was one problem which could be dealt with immediately:

Roy Harper.

* * *

><p><em>I can do this – I have to do this!<em>

Again Roy tried to loosen the rope that bound his wrists, twisting his hands in yet another attempt to gain some leverage. In his heart he knew it was hopeless; his arms ached from the countless attempts he'd made to free himself, every one ending in failure. Chloe had trussed him up so tightly he could barely move. Not only were his hands bound securely behind his back, but his ankles were also tied together. His situation was made ten times worse by the fact that he had been stuffed into some sort of box. His head was propped up against one end, whilst to either side of him its walls further constricted his movement. Grimly, Roy could not help but think of his prison as some sort of coffin, only one that was too small for its occupant; he couldn't stretch his legs out, but instead was forced to pull them upwards towards his chest. Silenced by a strip of duct tape wrapped several times around his head, his sense of helplessness was completed by the pitch blackness that surrounded him. He couldn't see a thing, a fact that only added to his growing panic.

He had no idea how long he'd been there. He'd come to an hour or so earlier, his head thumping from the effects of the drug that Chloe had used to subdue him. Immediately he had set about trying to escape, driven on by the knowledge that Oliver and AC were almost certainly walking into a trap. He blamed himself for what was happening. Why had he trusted her? Oliver was in love, so of course he would be blind to the danger. But he should have known better – he should have had his friend's back. What had happened to Bart should have set the alarm bells ringing, warned him that Chloe too might have fallen victim to Luthor's drugs. Why had he been so stupid? Now they were all in danger – hell, maybe it was already too late…..

Suddenly a sound brought Roy back to reality. He froze, his ears straining to hear what was happening. What was that? Whatever it was, it was getting closer…

Footsteps – yes, yes, it was footsteps!

Immediately Roy began to struggle furiously against his bonds. Banging his feet repeatedly against the wall of the box, he shouted into his gag, his cries for help muffled by the tape. If he could just attract someone's attention, maybe it wouldn't be too late to save Oliver after all…..

The footsteps stopped. There was the sound of metal touching metal, and then light flooded the box as above him the lid was slowly lifted open. Roy squinted, momentarily blinded.

"Hello Roy – did you sleep well?"

Roy's heart sank. He recognised the voice immediately:

Chloe.

Blinking, he looked up. She was standing over him, a twisted smirk on her face.

"Awww, were you expecting someone else? Sorry, kid, but Ollie's got his hands full with Clark right now."

Roy's eyes widened. Did that mean Oliver was okay?

"That's right, Roy," said Chloe, seeing the teenager's response. "Oliver's got Clark – used some kryptonite on him. They've brought him right back here, do you believe that? They're just locking him up in the containment room now, but don't worry – I'll soon have him out of there, I promise."

Fear gripped Roy. He was relieved to hear that Oliver was okay, but now both Chloe and Clark were on the inside, working for Lex. It didn't take a genius to figure out what would happen next.

"Don't be scared!" said Chloe, her grin widening as she the new terrifying reality dawn on Roy. "We're not going to kill Oliver – at least not yet. Lex wants him alive, you see – just like he wants AC alive. You, however – well, that's a different story."

She reached down and gently stroked the side of his cheek. Roy flinched, repelled by her touch. He grunted defiantly into his gag, determined to show no fear. Inside, however, it was a different story. He felt vulnerable, alone, and looking into Chloe's cold, heartless eyes he knew instinctively that he was in great danger.

"Roy Harper, the wannabe hero," continued Chloe, looking him up and down. "And you do look hot in the new suit – all leathered up like a real member of the Justice League! Such a shame you won't get chance to wear it on any more missions."

She paused, reaching down to pick something up. Roy's blood ran cold when he saw what it was – a syringe full of a clear liquid.

"I'm sorry I have to do this, Roy," she continued, examining the syringe closely as if to make sure it was in working order. "You're a cute guy, and if there was any other way believe me I'd do it. But I can't risk you getting loose and warning Oliver. It won't hurt, I promise – this will just put you to sleep, and then the ice box will do the rest. No pain, just a sleep you won't wake up from – the perfect way to die."

Once again Roy began to struggle, his eyes wide with terror. He now recognised the box he was being held in: the large freezer that was kept in the store room of the basement. If Chloe managed to inject him with whatever was in that syringe, he knew it would be all over; just like she said, he'd slip into a sleep from which he would never wake up.

"Lie still, Roy – you know you can't escape," said Chloe, trying to grab hold of the teenager who was now using every last ounce of his strength to evade her grasp. For a few seconds he succeeded, until, frustrated by his resistance, she seized hold of his hair and slammed his skull against the back of the box. Momentarily dazed, Roy could do nothing as she emptied the contents of the syringe into his neck.

Chloe stood for a moment, watching as Roy fought his losing battle to remain conscious. Detached, she watched calmly as his eyelids flickered, and then finally closed. She felt no animosity towards him, and on some level it did please her that his death would be painless. But he did have to die – she was certain of that. He stood in her way, and so he had to be removed; collateral damage, a necessary sacrifice in her mission to destroy Oliver and fulfil her promise to Lex.

She closed the lid of the freezer, securing it shut with a padlock. She then programmed the temperature control, setting it to -20 degrees.

Harper was dealt with; now it was AC's turn.

* * *

><p>Is this the end for Roy? Wll the guys figure out what Chloe is up to in time? No clues, just a promise - LOTS more angst and adventure ahead!<p>

Sorry that again it has taken me weeks to update - finding time and energy to write over the last month has been difficult. However, I've already started on the next chapter, which I hope to post at the weekend. Hope you are all enjoying Arrow as much as I am - it's filling the void that Smallville left in my life, and I like it so much I'm already wondering whether to write a fic for it once this one is done. Can't believe they've just cast Colton Haynes as Roy Harper - he's _exactly _who I have in my mind when I write Roy!

Thanks so much for your support and patience. Please, please do review if you can - every bit of feedback is appreciated, and it would be great to know you are still out there!


	21. Chapter 21: Do You Fear Me?

**Chapter Twenty-One: Do You Fear Me?**

Chloe walked confidently down the corridor which led to the containment cell, the sound of her heels hitting the hard floor echoing purposefully off the walls of the confined space. She appeared calm, almost business-like, seemingly unaffected by the fact that just three floors below Roy Harper's life was ebbing away by the minute. Roy was a problem to her, nothing more; the teenager had been dealt with, and now it was time to move on to the next part of her plan. Already the first piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place. Fifteen minutes earlier Oliver had set off on his ducati, heading to a meeting with Roy that only she knew was a fake. The forged message from Roy had been a rouse, a trick designed to get him out of the way whilst she freed Clark and dealt with AC. He'd fallen for it completely, of course. It amused her to see how much he trusted her, how he accepted everything she said without question. Lex had been right – he really was devoted to her. She smiled inwardly at the thought of what was to come, the moment when he learnt the truth of her betrayal. It would destroy him, just as Lex had promised:

_That will just be the start, Oliver. I'm going to make you suffer – suffer more than you can ever imagine!_

That was all in the future. Her task now was to rescue Clark, as well as deal with AC. He presented more of a challenge than Roy. Not only did he have abilities, but Lex wanted him alive; Luthor's loathing of the blond was especially intense, and he had made it clear he wanted to oversee his torture and execution personally. Chloe knew that she had one key advantage, however, and that was the element of surprise. That, along with the syringe she was clutching carefully in her jacket pocket, would be more than enough to deal with the mighty Aquaman…

Reaching the door to the containment room, she paused. It was time for her to put on her mask once more, to become the old Chloe – the Chloe who she now hated, the one from whom Lex had set her free. Soon the acting would be over – soon she would have what she had always wanted…..

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The room she found herself in was relatively small. A bank of monitors filled the left wall. Most showed shots of the surrounding streets, Oliver's security system allowing for the detection of any potential intruder. One, however, was showing a football game, the excited words of the commentators filling the room. Immediately in front of her was a huge sheet of glass, reaching from the floor almost to the ceiling and stretching the entire length of the wall. Beyond Chloe could see Clark. He was strapped to a gurney, angled at about forty-five degrees and facing directly towards her. Thick leather straps held him in place, but it was the lump of meteor rock which hung around his neck which really held him captive. As she stepped forwards he looked up, and for a split second their eyes met:

_I'm here, Clark. I'm going to get you out of there – I promise._

AC was lounging on a chair to her right, his feet propped up on a small table which was covered with the remains of a fast food meal. Surprised by Chloe's arrival, he scrambled to his feet.

"Chloe!" he began, taking a step towards her. He looked embarrassed, as if her appearance had caught him out. "I was just watching the game. I thought….."

"How is he?" interrupted Chloe, feigning concern as she stared through the glass. "Is he secure?"

"He's secure," he replied, turning towards the glass. "You don't need to worry – he can't get loose. And when Emil figures out how to reverse the effects of Lex's drug…"

"I just can't bear to see him like this," continued Chloe, her voice cracking with emotion. "First Bart, now Clark – what if Emil can't find an antidote? What if we can't bring them back?"

Tears began to flow down her cheeks. AC looked on awkwardly, not quite sure how to react.

_It's working,_ she thought to herself. _Just one more push…._

"Chloe, it's going to be okay," said AC, trying to reassure her.

"How can you be so sure? How do you know that?" she sobbed, seemingly overcome with emotion. "What Lex has done to them – I just can't…. I just can't…."

She stopped, before starting to sway a little. Fearing she would fall, AC stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and hugging her close.

"Hey, hey, don't cry!" he said quietly, cradling her head against his chest. "Emil's the best – if anyone can figure this out he can."

Chloe wasn't listening. She reached down into her pocket and grabbed the syringe, feeling to ensure she was positioning her fingers in exactly the right place. Satisfied that all was ready, she didn't hesitate. Slowly she lifted the syringe upwards, taking care to avoid any sudden movements that might attract the attention of her unsuspecting victim. Silently she moved it into position, just inches from the back of AC's neck…..

"Ollie will be back soon," continued AC, unaware of the danger. "And when he gets back he'll….."

He didn't get chance to complete his sentence. Chloe plunged the syringe deep into his neck, emptying its contents into his bloodstream. The drug began to work immediately. AC staggered backwards, clutching his neck. He stared wide-eyed at Chloe, apparently unable to take in what was happening. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would come; instead he grabbed the chair, before slumping awkwardly to the floor.

Chloe looked on dispassionately as AC's body began to twitch and spasm alarmingly. She was not concerned; one of the side-effects of the drug, she knew the convulsions would last just a matter of seconds. After that and AC would be paralysed, at least temporarily. Without a word she stepped over her hapless victim, ignoring the fearful, uncomprehending eyes that stared up at her. Standing at the door to the containment room, she punched in the access code to the electronic keypad. She waited for the familiar green light to appear that would tell her she could proceed, and was surprised when instead the display read "INVALID CODE: ACCESS DENIED." Thinking she must have made a mistake, she tried again, only to be met with the same response.

_The code is different here._

Of course they would use a different code here – why hadn't she thought of that? Cursing her own lack of foresight, she turned towards AC. Completely still now, he was lying on his back just a few feet away; fortunately for her, he was still fully conscious.

Calmly she knelt down and straddled him, each leg pinioning his arms to his sides. Looking down, she could see in his eyes that surprise had given way to fear. He understood now what was happening, how completely he and Oliver had been deceived…

"What's the code?" she demanded calmly.

"Chloe, please, listen to….."

She slapped him hard across the face. "I said, what's the code?" she repeated heartlessly.

"Don't do this…please," gasped AC, his head spinning. He appeared disorientated, as if he was struggling to focus, and for a moment Chloe feared he might lapse into unconsciousness.

"TELL ME THE CODE!" she shouted, grabbing his hair in frustration and yanking his head upwards.

"Go to hell," whispered the young hero defiantly. Despite the shock of Chloe's betrayal, he knew that he had to keep that code secret; if Clark got free then everything they'd worked for would be lost.

"So Aquaman wants to be a hero, does he?" said Chloe, her lips curling in contempt. Looking up, she scanned the room. Immediately she saw what she was looking for – AC's knife, lying on the table. She reached up and grabbed it, before thrusting it under AC's chin.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I won't hurt you," she said, pressing the blade against the young hero's skin. AC did not reply; instead he simply stared her straight in the eye, as if daring her to do her worst.

"You don't believe I'll use this? Here, maybe this will convince you."

She plunged the knife into AC's shoulder blade, thrusting it deep into his flesh. AC yelled out in agony; he might have lost the use of his muscles, but he could still feel pain.

"Scream all you want, AC – no one can hear you!" said Chloe, enjoying the sight of her old friend's distress. "Now tell me the fucking code, or next I'll slice up that handsome face of yours!"

She placed the knife against AC's cheek. Neither was in any doubt that she'd do it, but AC didn't flinch; he was not going to set Clark free, whatever the cost.

"Do what you want," he gasped. "I won't talk!"

Chloe's jaw tightened in frustration. She scowled down at her captive, knowing only too well that he meant what he said – however much she tortured him, he wouldn't give up the code. He didn't care about himself – all he was worried about was protecting his friends.

_Protecting his friends…_

Chloe smiled. That was it – _that_ was how to make him talk…

"Tell me what I want to know, or it won't just be you who suffers," she hissed, pressing the knife a little harder against AC's skin. "I've got the kid – give me the code or he dies."

A look of fear flashed across AC's face. Chloe saw it, and knew instantly that she had found his Achilles heel.

"You didn't think that message to Oliver was real, did you?" she continued. "That was just a way of getting him out of the way while I freed Clark. No, I've got Roy tied up down in the basement, and if you don't give me that code in five seconds I'm going to go down there and cut his throat!"

Even after everything that had happened, AC was taken aback by the venom in Chloe's words. No trace of the old Chloe remained; she had disappeared, to be replaced by the murderous psychopath who now held him at her mercy. All the nightmares of the previous months - the torture, the months of despair he'd endured entombed at the bottom of the ocean – nothing had prepared him for this.

"Five."

AC hesitated. His mind was spinning, desperately trying to find a way out….

"Four."

He looked up into her eyes, hoping to see some trace of the old Chloe, some sign that all was not lost. There was none – instead a pair of cold, callous eyes returned his gaze, the eyes of a woman who was capable of anything…..

"Three."

He was trapped. He knew what he had to do – he just hoped that Oliver would understand…..

"Two."

"45920."

AC spoke quietly, as if defeat had robbed him of his voice. Chloe withdrew the knife, her anger replaced with a triumphant grin.

"There, that wasn't too hard, was it?" she said. "Shame you're too late to save Roy – he was a good kid."

"But…?"

"Awww, did you think I was telling the truth?" replied Chloe, enjoying the look of shock on AC's face. "You know Lex is right about you, AC - you really are a dumb fuck. The kid's dead – if I were you I'd worry about myself, and what Luthor's going to do when he gets his hands on you."

AC groaned. Not only had he given up the code, but he'd done so for nothing – Roy was already dead.

Chloe got to her feet. Armed with the code, she moved to the door to the containment room. The numbers worked first time, the green light which appeared above the keypad confirming her success in outmanoeuvring the man who now watched, stricken and helpless, from the floor. Grabbing the handle she pulled the heavy door open, before stepping inside.

AC's head was spinning. Chloe's betrayal, Roy almost certainly dead – the events of the previous five minutes had left him reeling, struggling to make sense of what was happening. Now alone in the room, the sound of the commentary on the game was a reminder of the optimism he'd felt just minutes earlier, and which now seemed a lifetime away. It was like an earthquake had struck, upending everything and leaving all their hopes in ruins. All was lost, unless…..

Slowly, agonisingly slowly, AC began to inch his way across the floor. The muscles in his legs had been rendered useless by Chloe's drug, but he still had some strength in his upper body, enough for him to haul himself forwards. His goal was his earpiece, laying on the table just a few feet away. If he could get to it he might be able to make contact with Oliver, warn him before it was too late. Seconds passed. His progress was slow, but sheer willpower drove him on, helping him to blot out not just the waves of nausea and pain, but also the knowledge that it was already probably too late for Roy. He had to warn Oliver – if he didn't, he knew it was all over.

He reached the foot of the table. He stretched his arm upwards, his fingers straining for the earpiece which he could see directly above him. It was almost out of reach, but somehow he managed to get a finger to it, enough to send it falling to the floor. His heart pounding, he made a grab for it, just as a shadow fell over him….

"Trying to contact Oliver? Don't worry, AC – you'll be seeing him soon enough."

AC looked up, to find Clark towering over him. Desperately he made one last attempt to reach the earpiece. Clark was too quick for him, casually crushing it with his foot. He then grabbed AC by the hair, hauling his head from the floor and causing the young hero to cry out in pain.

"Not so strong now, are you?" he sneered, savouring the look of terror he could see in AC's eyes. "Are you scared, AC? Do you fear me? Because you should, my friend. I'm going to make you suffer for what you did to me – suffer so much you'll wish you'd never been born!"

He smashed AC's head to the floor, his eyes flashing with rage. Capture by AC and Oliver had left him angry, humiliated; now he was free he wanted revenge.

"Not now, Clark," said Chloe, sensing the danger. "Lex wants him alive, remember? You'll get your chance, I promise. Now tie him up – we haven't got much time."

Reluctantly, Clark did as he was told. Chloe moved over to one of the computers located beneath the screens. She typed in a sequence of codes, a pre-arranged signal agreed days earlier with her new master.

Then she waited.

"_Chloe, how good to hear from you."_

"Hello, Lex."

"_What is your status?"_

"Clark is safe – the base is ours."

"_And Curry?"_

"Secure – Clark is dealing with him now. I'm expecting Oliver back here in a couple of hours."

"_Excellent. Well I think we'd better prepare a welcome for him, don't you?"_

* * *

><p>Clark's free, AC's been taken, and Ollie is walking into a trap - can it get any worse for our heroes? Find out in the next chapter...<p>

If reviews are anything to go by, interest in this story is waning fast. Have to say that makes me feel a bit down, so if you do have some time please do post a review - any support you can give will be gratefully received!


	22. Chapter 22: Shattered

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Shattered**

_**(Warning: serious Ollie angst ahead)**_

It was approaching three-thirty in the morning when Oliver finally turned the ducati into the alley which led to the entrance to his base. He was tired, but content – more content, in fact, than he'd felt in months. Despite all that had happened, things were finally falling into place. Not only had they managed to steal the kryptonite, but they'd also snatched Clark right from under Lex's nose. It would only be a matter of time before Emil found a way to reverse the effects of the drug, and then together they'd finish Lex once and for all. Luck was on their side – it was just a matter of time before at last the nightmare would be over.

Now, however, he needed to sleep. The events of the previous twenty-four hours had left him exhausted, and the four hour round trip to a meeting with Roy that never materialised had not helped matters. There had been some confusion, apparently, and now Roy would see him back at base. Not for a second did Oliver suspect the explanation that Chloe had given for the teenager's non-appearance; nor, indeed, did he notice the black truck he'd passed about a mile or so back, its windows blacked out to conceal what was inside. He was tired, and all he wanted was to slip out of the leathers of his alter ego and collapse into a soft, warm bed next to the woman he loved…..

_Chloe._

From the moment they'd brought him back from the dead all those months ago he'd thought of little else. Saving her had driven him on, given him the spur he'd needed to work through the long hours of painful training necessary for him to rebuild his physical strength after the ordeal of Nemesis. He'd dreamt of the moment he would hold her in his arms once more, cradle her and tell her it was all going to be alright. And now he'd done it – he'd saved her. It wasn't quite what he'd expected, perhaps – not quite how it had played out in all those dreams. He'd pictured himself running into the arms of the old Chloe, full of life and happiness; instead he'd been met by a fragile, terrified young woman, a shadow of her former self. With hindsight he could see now that he'd been naïve, that five months as a prisoner of Lex Luthor was bound to have taken its toll. It would take time for her to recover, and if she seemed a little distant now, somehow not quite right, well, that was to be expected. Soon he would have his old Chloe back, he knew it – he just had to be patient.

Entering the base, everything was quiet as Oliver brought his bike to a halt. He dismounted, shaking his head a little as he removed his helmet. He wasn't surprised to find the place empty; it was late, and he guessed that whatever Roy had wanted to tell him, the teenager had decided it could wait until morning. Hanging his helmet on the handle of the ducati, he began to make his way towards the corridor that led to his room.

"Hello, Oliver."

He froze. It couldn't be – not here, not now…..

"We've been expecting you. What happened – get stuck in traffic?"

Oliver whirled round, pulling out his crossbow as he did so. Lex stood, smiling, about twenty feet away. He appeared serenely calm, seemingly unfazed by the fact that Oliver was now pointing his bow directly at his head.

"Oliver, Oliver, is this any way to greet an old friend?" he purred, taking a step forwards.

"Don't move!" shouted Oliver, his head spinning. "Don't move or I'll shoot!"

"Really? Okay then, Oliver – take your best shot."

Lex opened his arms, as if inviting Oliver to fire. Confused, Oliver hesitated. What was this? What the hell was going on?

"No? I thought this was what you wanted – to kill me?" continued Lex. He stood absolutely still, staring straight at Oliver. For a few seconds no one spoke. Oliver's finger hovered over the trigger, beads of sweat sliding down his face as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He had the weapon, but both men knew that it was Lex who was in control. He couldn't shoot – however much he hated Lex, he couldn't kill him in cold blood. Lex understood that – and that was why they both knew that, this time, he'd won.

"You can't do it, can you – you can't kill me," said Lex eventually, slowly lowering his arms. "And that's why I always win in the end, Oliver – that conscience of yours always gets the better of you."

"Where are they?" demanded Oliver, taking a step forward. "Where's Chloe and AC?"

"Safe – for now, at least," replied Lex. "Now put that toy of yours down, and then we can talk."

"Tell me where they are – tell me now or I'll…."

"Kill me? I don't think so, do you? Now put the crossbow down, or my men will be forced to shoot."

Five men clad in LuthorCorp uniforms emerged from their hiding places, each pointing a gun straight at Oliver's head.

"Put the crossbow down," repeated Lex, his voice hardening. "Do it, or you'll never see your friends again."

Oliver knew he was trapped. Admitting defeat, he slowly lowered his crossbow, before dropping it to the floor. Immediately two of Lex's guards rushed forward. One forced his arms behind his back and tied his wrists together, whilst the other expertly checked him over for any other weapons. Within seconds Oliver was a captive, the two guards taking up positions to either side of him and standing to attention.

"Prisoner secure, sir," barked one of them, like a sergeant bellowing orders on a parade ground.

"Quite an operation you've set up here," said Lex, surveying the bank of computers that were lined up along one side of the room. "I thought when I took over Queen Industries I'd got hold of all of your assets – clearly I was wrong."

Oliver said nothing. He tugged at his bonds, testing their strength. To his surprise he found there was some movement – certainly enough for him to work on….

"I have to confess, Oliver, you had me on the run there for a while," continued Lex, strolling around the room and making a show of examining its contents. "When I put you in the ground at Nemesis I never for a minute imagined I'd see you again. But here you are – Lazarus himself! Remarkable – quite remarkable!"

Lex was getting into his stride now. Oliver's return from the dead had unnerved him more than he cared to admit, and he'd just lived through some of the most nerve-wracking days of his entire life. Everything he'd worked for had been put in jeopardy by the young hero's unexpected resurrection. He'd had to endure the thing he hated most: not being in control. Oliver had rung rings around him, and for once he had been the one who was forced to react to events, always one step behind his adversary. Now, however, it was different. He was back where he wanted to be, master of events; after all he'd been through, he was determined to savour it.

"And taking down Slade – well, what can I say? Death seems to suit you, Oliver – makes you stronger! What did you do - kill him?"

"He's somewhere where you'll never find him – and where he won't be able to hurt anyone ever again."

"Ohhh, bravo – spoken like a true hero! You know it must be hard being you sometimes, Oliver. The weight of all that smug self-righteousness – it must really weigh you down!"

"Not as hard as being a murdering son-of-a-bitch like you, Lex."

Lex laughed. "Ahh, well, we all have our crosses to bear, Oliver – we all have our crosses to bear!" He stopped, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. "But I'm forgetting myself! You were asking after your friends – seems a shame not to let them join the party. Edwards, ask Clark to bring in Mr Curry, will you?"

Oliver braced himself. He knew that AC had been taken, but the mention of Clark's name caused a shiver to run down his spine. Was his friend okay? Or had Clark already taken his revenge on his former teammate?

After a delay of a couple of seconds Clark emerged from the corridor that led to the containment cell. Slung over his shoulder was AC, unmistakable in the orange and green uniform of Aquaman. AC was a big guy, perhaps even bigger than Clark, but the kryptonian carried him as if he was as light as air. Striding forwards, he took hold of AC's legs and swung him up and off his shoulder, bringing him crashing to the ground directly in front of Lex like some hunter presenting his prize. AC winced in pain as he hit the floor, his cry muffled by the duct tape that had been wrapped so tightly around his head it seemed almost to cut into his cheeks. Thick chains encircled the entire length of his body, and manacles bound his hands and feet together. He looked like an escapologist who had just been made ready for some impossible escape, but the blistering on his arms and face told a different story. Deprived of water, Oliver could see that already his friend had lost much of the strength that had allowed him to go head to head with Clark. He looked up, his eyes immediately falling on Oliver. The two men stared at each for a moment. Despite everything, Oliver felt relieved; AC's eyes sparkled as strongly as they had always done, even at their most desperate moments.

_Hang in there, bro, _he thought to himself. _This isn't over – not yet._

Behind his back, the bonds that held him loosened just a little bit more….

"And here he is – the mighty lord of the oceans!" sneered Lex, looking down at his helpless prey. "Alas, not so strong now, I'm afraid – but what can you expect? Leave an oversized fish in charge of a man like Clark here and you just know it's not going to end well. Isn't that right, AC?"

AC grunted angrily into his gag, his eyes flashing with rage.

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that, I'm afraid," said Lex. "Clark, if you wouldn't mind….?"

"Speak up for Mr Luthor!" shouted Clark, casually kicking AC in the base of the spine. AC groaned, his face suddenly twisted in a spasm of agony. Clark grinned; he was obviously enjoying his new role as Lex's right hand man.

"No, still didn't catch it," said Lex lightly, watching as his new henchman towered menacingly over his captive. "Still, I doubt if we missed much – himbo here's never exactly been known for his sparkling conversation, has he?"

"Cut the crap, Lex," said Oliver, eager to divert attention away from AC and save him from further harm. "What's your plan – kill us, or brainwash us into your pet zombies like you did to Clark and Bart?"

Lex chuckled. "How do you like that, Clark – Oliver here thinks you are my pet zombie! We know otherwise, don't we – we know that your treatment has helped you see the truth."

"Truth?" scoffed Oliver. "What truth? That if you pump someone full of drugs for long enough they stop thinking straight? You've messed with his head, Lex, and at last you've got what you wanted – control over Clark Kent."

The strength of Oliver's words surprised even himself. As he pulled once more against the loosening bonds a plan was forming in his mind. Its chances of success were slight, but he didn't have much alternative. All he needed was to get under Lex's skin a little, draw him closer….

"Does it make you feel good, Lex?" he continued. "Knowing that the man you've been obsessed with all these years is finally yours? You've always been in his shadow, haven't you – but then that's nothing new, is it? First your father, then me, then Clark – your whole life's been built around trying to be better than someone else. And every time you've failed – just like this time you'll fail. You know why? You're a loser, Lex – a natural born loser."

If Oliver's intention was to goad Lex then he was succeeding. The easy smile of seconds earlier had disappeared. Lex now looked irritated, angry – he hadn't expected his moment of triumph to be sullied by a display of defiance from his captive, and it clearly rattled him.

"Brave words, Oliver," he said, stepping round AC and walking slowly towards him. "But then you always were good with words, weren't you? Oliver Queen, the clean cut all-American boy who can charm the world. Well words can't save you now – just like your toys and your freak friends can't save you. _You're_ the loser, Oliver, not me – and this time, you _will _die."

He came to a halt directly in front of Oliver. There was silence for a couple of seconds, the two men staring at each other. Lex hoped to see fear in the other man's eyes, but there was none. Instead Oliver met his gaze confidently, even defiantly; his plan was working, and behind his back his hands were at last free…..

"What, nothing to say?" asked Lex eventually, frustrated by Oliver's silence. He took a step closer, as if he was trying to intimidate his captive. "The truth hurts, doesn't it?" he said, leaning in so that his face was just a few inches from Oliver's. "Oliver Queen, the great….."

It was then that Oliver struck. Moving with lightning speed he reached up and grabbed Lex, swinging him round and wrapping his arm around his neck before pulling him back against his body so that he formed a human shield. At the same time he grabbed a gun from the holster of one of the guards who was standing next to him, immediately jamming its muzzle straight into the side of Lex's head. It happened so quickly none of Lex's men had time to react; by the time they started to go for their guns it was already too late.

"NOBODY MOVE!" ordered Oliver, pressing the gun harder into Lex's skull. "Move and I'll kill him!"

The guards stood motionless, their guns now all trained on Oliver. Clark took a step forward.

"Back off, Clark," said Oliver breathlessly, sensing the danger. "You're quick, but do you think you're quick enough to stop me putting a bullet in Lex's brain?"

Clark hesitiated, realising that Oliver's warning was true; he could kill Oliver in an instant, but not before he'd had chance to kill Lex.

"Now tell your men to put their guns down," continued Oliver, pressing the gun harder still into Lex's head. His heart was pumping furiously, his eyes everywhere, alert to the slightest movement.

Lex said nothing. Like a rag doll in Oliver's grip, he was motionless, staring straight at Clark.

"Do it!" hissed Oliver.

"Do as he says," said Lex quietly. Slowly, reluctantly, the guards did as they were told, all the time keeping their eyes firmly on their boss.

"Now tell one of your pet apes to bring Chloe in here – now," continued Oliver.

A flicker of a smile crossed Lex's lips, disappearing almost as soon as it appeared.

"Santos, fetch Miss Sullivan," he said, looking at one of his guards. The man went to move, only to be brought to a halt by a warning from Oliver.

"No tricks, or he dies!"

The man nodded, before disappearing down the corridor which led to the containment cell. There was silence for a few moments, broken only by AC's muffled cries from the floor.

"It's okay, bro – everything's going to be okay," said Oliver, glancing down at his friend. He seemed to be trying to say something, but he couldn't quite make it out….

"You'll never get out of here alive – my men have this place surrounded," said Lex. He, unlike Oliver, understood all too well what AC was trying to say; he was determined to distract Oliver, keep him busy until it was too late….

"Really? We'll see about that," said Oliver, gripping the other man a little tighter. "With you as a hostage I don't think any of your men are going to stop me, do you?"

There was the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Chloe emerged, followed by Santos; she appeared frightened, but otherwise unharmed.

"Chloe, are you okay?" asked Oliver.

"I'm… I'm fine," she replied. "They must have overridden the security system. As soon as we knew what was happening it was too late – we tried…."

"Don't worry about it," interrupted Oliver. "We're getting out of here, okay? Now get the keys to truck – they're over on the table next to my bike."

Chloe paused, her eyes catching Lex's for just a fraction of a second. She then ran past Oliver in the direction of the table.

"You, untie AC," ordered Oliver, looking at Santos.

The other man didn't move; instead a strange smile began to form on his lips.

"I said untie him, damnit!"

"I don't think he's going to do that, Oliver," said Lex, his voice calm and collected once more.

"What?" said Oliver, suddenly uneasy. Again he looked at AC; his friend was straining desperately at his bonds, shouting into his gag and staring up at him with eyes that screamed their own terrible warning…..

"Put the gun down, Oliver."

Oliver froze. He felt the muzzle of a gun pressing coldly into the back of his head, but it wasn't that which caused his stomach to turn over – it was the familiar voice that had uttered those words.

_Chloe!_

For a moment he said nothing, not quite believing what his ears were telling him. It couldn't be – it just couldn't! And yet…

"I said, put the gun down."

This time there could be no mistake. The voice was different, certainly; the innocence, the lightness was gone, to be replaced by something altogether colder, more clinical. But it _was_ her - it _was_ Chloe.

"No….," he whispered. "Please God….."

He looked at AC, still hoping he was wrong, but his friend's stricken expression only confirmed what he already knew.

The muzzle pressed more insistently against the back of his head. "I won't ask again," demanded Chloe, her voice harder now. "Drop the fucking gun!"

"I'd do what she says, Oliver," said Lex, his confidence returning. "I don't think your fiancé likes to be kept waiting."

Lex's quip met with a murmur of appreciation from the guards, all of them transfixed by the drama that was playing out in front of them. Oliver barely heard. Stunned, he allowed his grip on both the gun and Lex to loosen. Lex took his chance, slipping free and standing aside as his guards rushed forwards. Oliver was quickly disarmed, before being bundled to the floor. This time Lex's men made no mistake, binding his wrists so tightly they knew there would be no second bid for freedom. Not that Oliver was thinking of escape. He felt shattered, numb; his head was spinning so much he hardly knew what was happening around him. It all made sense now, of course – how Lex's men had found his base, how they'd got inside, even what AC had been trying to tell him in those final few seconds before his world had come crashing down around him. And that was how he felt – as if his world had come to an end. Everything he'd lived for these past five months - all the planning, the training, the dreaming - had been for her, for Chloe. Now it was as if that had all been for nothing; for a second time he'd lost her, perhaps this time for good.

"Look at me, Oliver."

Lex's voice, penetrating the fog of confusion and pain that clouded his brain. He tried to block it out, to ignore it; he didn't want to face reality, see her face when he knew it would break his heart….

"Look at me."

It was no use – Lex would not allow him to hide from reality. Focusing, he realised he was on his knees, staring at the ground in front of him. Tears filled his eyes. He blinked them away; despite everything, he still wanted to be strong, to be the hero. But it was hard now, with all his hopes in ruins. Slowly, he raised his head, to find Lex towering over him, triumphant. A few feet away stood Clark – and Chloe. He looked across at her, his eyes pleading, imploring. Surely something of the old Chloe remained – some glimmer, some flicker of recognition? They loved each other so much - surely no drug, however powerful, could wipe all that away?

Nothing - there was nothing. Instead she was smirking at him – _smirking! _It was the cruellest smile he'd ever seen, a sight that seared itself into his memory so strongly he knew then that he would remember it until the day he died.

"What's this – tears?" said Lex, merciless in victory. "I know not many couples break up at the point of a gun, but really Oliver – I expected a more stoical response from the great Green Arrow."

This time Lex's words were greeted with laughter. His men had got used to being beaten by the leather clad vigilante, and they were enjoying Oliver's humiliation almost as much as their boss.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Oliver," he continued. "Chloe is a magnificent actress - anyone would have been taken in, and from what I've heard her performance here has been worthy of an Academy Award."

"You… you won't get away with this, Lex," gasped Oliver.

Lex laughed. "Is that the best you've got? Oliver, I'm disappointed – where's that famous Queen repartee? Well, if you can't do better than that – Santos, gag him."

Santos approached Oliver from behind, a length of material in his hand. Reaching over he stuffed it into Oliver's mouth, before tying it off tightly at the back of his head. Lex looked on, enjoying his rival's latest degradation; now he had been silenced, it was time to pile on the agony even more.

"Of course you think all of this is down to my drugs," he said, turning and walking over to where Chloe and Clark were standing. "That somehow I've brainwashed them – turned them into my "zombies"! But it's not, Oliver – really, it's not. My treatments don't change people's personalities – _they release them_. Years of convention, years of conditioning and learning how to behave, how to suppress one's true feelings – all that is stripped away, to reveal the real person lying beneath. Take Chloe and Clark here. Deep down they've always known they've wanted each other, but there's always been something – _or someone_ – holding them back. My drugs have freed them from all that, released them from their inhibitions. Now they can be the lovers they were always destined to be - isn't that right, Chloe?"

Chloe grinned, before turning towards Oliver. She stared at him for two or three seconds, as if to make sure he was looking and wasn't going to miss what was about to happen next. Then, very slowly, very deliberately, she wrapped her arms around Clark, all the time keeping her eyes firmly on Oliver. Horrified, he could only watch as the two then began to kiss, their lips locking together in an embrace as passionate as it was heart-breaking to the young hero who was watching just a few feet away.

"They make a great couple, don't you think?" said Lex. "Such a shame you won't be around for the wedding."

It was too much for Oliver. Tears rolling down his cheeks, he sprang to his feet, taking his guards by surprise. Roaring with anger he lunged at Lex. He didn't know what he hoped to achieve, but blinded by despair he felt he had to do something, anything, to strike back at the man who had finally taken from him the one thing that meant more to him than anything else in the world. It was hopeless; hands bound behind his back, the outcome was inevitable. Lex neatly sidestepped his attack, before a blow from the butt of a gun sent him crashing to the ground.

He lay for a moment, dazed and exhausted. Exultant, Lex walked over, ready to deliver the coup de grace to his stricken foe.

"You should have stayed dead, Oliver," he said contemptuously. "But look on the bright side – now I get to kill you, all – over- again!"

Each of the last three words was accompanied by a kick to Oliver's head, so brutal they left the young hero bleeding and unconscious. Wiping the blood from his shoe on Oliver's tunic, Lex turned towards his men.

"Get these two into the truck and secure them," he ordered, nodding at Oliver and AC.

"What about this place, sir?" asked one of his men.

Lex looked around. "Burn it," he replied. "Burn it so there's nothing left but a pile of ashes."

His men busied themselves carrying out his instructions. Lex presided over the scene, eventually joined by Chloe.

"What will you do with them?" she asked, watching as AC and Oliver were dragged away.

Lex smiled. "Ohh, I've got plans for each of them," he said. "And don't worry, Chloe – those plans very much include you."

* * *

><p>Well, I did warn you! After the last chapter you just knew that the net was closing in on Ollie, and now he's been captured too. It's great to bring Lex back into the story, and I always enjoy writing Lex-Ollie confrontations - I can picture them so vividly in my head. Can I hurt our hero any more? Of course I can - it's far too early for a happy ending! But maybe, just maybe, there will be signs of hope in the next chapter...<p>

Thanks so much to all those of you who took time to review my last chapter - it is so, so good to know that you are all still out there! Please, please do let me know what you think of this latest installment - it was a big chapter, and I would really value your feedback.


	23. Chapter 23: Prisoners

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Prisoners**

_I've lost her – I've lost Chloe._

That thought – so simple, yet so devastating – filled his mind; that, and the memory of the look she'd given him just moments before she'd kissed Clark. She'd smiled at him – smiled, even though she knew that seconds later she would break his heart forever. It was an act so callous, so calculated, he could scarcely believe it. He knew it was the drugs, of course – that the Chloe who had so deliberately flaunted her betrayal was not the real Chloe. For some reason that didn't help; that look was so seared into his subconscious it seemed to have the power to force all rational thoughts to flee from his head. Was it because, deep down, he thought Lex was right? Had those drugs he'd given her just released the real Chloe, the Chloe who had been in love with Clark since their time together in Smallville, but who had been too shy, too afraid, to show it? There had been moments in the past when he'd wondered about Chloe's feelings towards Clark, whether there was something more to their relationship than simply friendship. Perhaps she did love him – perhaps Lex had revealed the truth after all…..

_No – no, it's not true. Lex is messing with your head, Oliver – he's messing with your head!_

Oliver tried to dismiss the thought from his mind, but he couldn't. Tired, he was plagued with a doubt that seemed to gnaw away at his very soul. He'd been in tight spots before, but somehow this felt different. The years he'd spent on the island, the times he'd spent as a prisoner, enduring all manner of torments – through it all, he'd managed to keep going, even when everything had seemed hopeless. Now, however, his courage had deserted him, the fire that had burned in his heart through all those trials finally extinguished by that one, terrible kiss. He'd given everything he'd got, but still he had lost – and lost in the cruellest way imaginable. He'd really believed that this time it would be different, that this time – finally - he would triumph over Lex. That was how it would have played out in the comic books he'd read as a kid; the hero, tested to the limit, finally winning out over the villain, good vanquishing evil. But this wasn't a comic book – this was real life, and once again Oliver was confronted with the bitter taste of defeat.

_It's your fault, Oliver. All of it –it's your fault. _

He looked down. The costume he'd worn with such pride now seemed like a sick joke, a painful reminder of the path he'd chosen all those months ago. A hero? He was no hero. If he'd been a real hero none of this would have happened; Chloe and the guys would be safe, Clark's real identity still a secret. Lex was right – he was a fraud, a rich boy with more money than sense who thought he could dress up and play at being the good guy. And now people were dead, lives ruined forever. He was to blame – not Lex, him.

Not for the first time, tears began to well up in his eyes. Lifting his head, he stared at the walls of his cell. The room was bare, save for the camera mounted directly opposite which monitored his every move. Not that he could move much, his hands and feet shackled to the wall. He had no idea how long he'd been there, although he guessed it must have been more than a day since he'd been taken. Nor did he have any idea of where he was; he didn't even know whether he was still in the States, or whether he'd been taken to some anonymous LuthorCorp facility in another part of the world. He'd largely been left alone with his thoughts since he'd come to, with only the silence to keep him company. All part of Lex's plan, of course, but Oliver had no doubt that somewhere he was watching, waiting….

_This is where it ends, Oliver – this is where you will die._

Suddenly there was the sound of raised voices coming from the corridor outside. The door to his cell had a window in it, and as Oliver watched he could see there was some sort of scuffle going on, men in LuthorCorp uniforms apparently struggling with a prisoner. There was a flash of orange, and then AC's face appeared at the glass.

"Oliver!" he shouted, obviously surprised to be confronted by the face of his friend. "Dude…..!"

He didn't get chance to say anymore, his face disappearing as quickly as it had appeared as Lex's men hauled him away. There was more shouting, and the sound of metal against bone as the guards moved to subdue their captive.

"Hang in there, bro!" shouted AC. "Don't let them break you, man!"

More shouts, and then the unmistakable crackle of a taser. There was the sound of something heavy being dragged along the floor, and then silence.

_Don't let them break you…._

Once again tears welled up in Oliver's eyes. This time, however, they were not tears of despair – they were tears of pride. A lump formed in his throat as he thought of AC. They had been through so much together, experienced the exhilaration of success as well as the price of defeat. The bond that united them was unlike any Oliver had ever known, so strong he knew it could withstand any test. He loved him, loved him like a brother.

And AC hadn't given up – AC was still fighting…..

Oliver blinked away the tears, his jaw tightening in a look of grim resolution. He knew he was facing death, and that Lex intended to make him suffer before the end. Whatever the future held, whatever torments awaited him, he felt a renewed sense of determination. He wouldn't let his friends down, not after all they had sacrificed; he would go down fighting, just like AC.

He looked up at the camera, his eyes flashing with defiance.

_Do your worst, Lex, _he thought to himself. _I won't break – the Justice League never breaks!_

* * *

><p>AC continued to struggle as he was dragged down a corridor away from Oliver's cell. He was determined not to make it easy for his captors. The many hours he'd spent deprived of water had robbed him of his powers, and his blistered skin was stained red with blood from the beatings he'd endured at the hands of Lex's guards. Unlike Oliver, he'd not been left alone since his arrival. Luthor's thugs had enjoyed working him over three or four times; they were clearly under strict instructions from Lex, because on each occasion they had just stopped short of doing any permanent damage. AC had been Lex's prisoner enough times to know that this was just the beginning, and that Lex would have some more elaborate torment prepared for him. Whatever it was, as he was dragged down yet another anonymous corridor he had a feeling he was about to find out.<p>

He was worried about Oliver. It was bad enough that Chloe had fallen victim to Lex's drugs, but the way she had humiliated him, flaunted herself with Clark – it was more than anyone could bear, let alone a man who had been through what Oliver had had to endure. Seeing him chained up in that cell had done little to allay his fears. He'd only caught a fleeting glimpse of his friend's face, but he had seen the hurt there, the pain that cut deeper than any physical wound. Fragile, broken emotionally – how would he cope with captivity, with whatever twisted games Lex had planned for him? AC was sure of only one thing – whatever Lex had prepared for Oliver, it wouldn't be quick. There was no limit to how much Lex hated Oliver Queen - he would make him suffer, suffer in ways he hardly dared to imagine…..

At last the guards came to a halt in front of a door. AC watched as one of the men punched a code into an electronic keypad, bracing himself for whatever lay beyond. The door was pushed open, and AC dragged inside.

The room appeared to be some sort of laboratory, with monitors and trolleys filled with scientific equipment lined up along every wall. The center of the room was dominated by a large gurney. Thick leather straps attached along its entire length, the contraption stood vertical, as if waiting for something – or someone. Sensing what was to come, AC began to struggle furiously against his captors; he knew it was pointless to resist, but he was damned if he was going to make it easy for them.

He sensed movement off to his right. He turned his head, to find Chloe staring at him. Dressed in the uniform of a LuthorCorp employee, she looked at him with a mixture of amusement and contempt.

"Careful with him, boys – we wouldn't want to hurt our handsome hero, now would we?" she said sarcastically, her smile widening as she watched AC being strapped down onto the gurney. AC continued to fight his captors, but a couple of well-placed punches to his gut quickly brought his resistance to an end; in less than a minute he was strapped down securely, a helpless prisoner.

Slowly, Chloe approached him, coming to a halt directly in front of where he lay. Their eyes met, and for a couple of seconds they stared at each other, neither saying a word. AC knew better than to expect any sign of compassion, and there was none; instead Chloe eyed him hungrily, like a predator about to devour its prey.

She reached out, her hand resting on the vast expanse of AC's chest. He tensed, suddenly aware of what lay behind those eyes that now studied him so greedily….

"AC, aka Aquaman," she purred, running her hand suggestively across his chest and down onto the tight muscle of his abdominal wall. "You know I've always loved the spandex – not many guys can pull it off, but you…."

"Get your hands off me!" demanded AC, recoiling from her touch. He felt anger, but also confusion; torture he was prepared for, but this…..

"Awww, don't be mad!" replied Chloe, tilting her head coquettishly to one side and feigning concern. "You know I've always had a soft spot for you, AC. If things had been different – if Clark…."

"Don't – don't do this!" he said, his discomfort obvious as her hand continued to feel its way down his body, getting ever closer to his groin….

"What – you're not shy, are you?" she smirked, edging closer. "I don't believe it – big handsome guy like you…."

"Chloe, this isn't you!" he exclaimed, beads of sweat running down his forehead. "Lex's drugs – they've messed with your head, made you not think straight…."

"I've never seen things more clearly in my life," she whispered, leaning in so close her lips were almost touching his. "I know what I want, AC – and right now, I want you….."

"_Miss Sullivan, stop playing with our guest – you're making him blush_."

Lex's voice sounded through a speaker mounted high in one corner of the lab. Chloe stopped for a second, before leaning in close to AC's ear.

"Til the next time, _Aquaman," _she whispered. AC shuddered; there was something about the way she said his name, something that made his skin crawl….

Chloe stepped away. She'd enjoyed toying with her former friend, but now it was time for the procedure to begin.

"_Is our favourite surfer boy secure?"_ asked Lex.

"Everything is ready, Mr Luthor," answered Chloe, her voice now flat and business-like.

"What's up, Lex?" shouted AC, staring angrily up at the camera. "Come here and let me see that ugly face of yours, you murdering son-of-a-bitch!"

Lex's laughter echoed off the walls of the laboratory. "_Ahh, that's what I've always liked about you, AC – the schoolboy heroics! We'll meet soon enough, you have my word – but first of all my team have a little procedure they need to perform on you_."

"What are you going to do, Lex? Turn me into another one of your zombies?" said AC, trying to hide his growing sense of unease. For the first time he was aware of the four or five figures in white coats who stood nearby, each with what appeared to be surgical implements in their hands.

_This isn't a laboratory,_ he thought to himself. _This is an operating theatre….._

"_No, I'm not going to turn you into a 'zombie,'" _continued Lex, his voice chillingly calm. "_I have something far more entertaining planned for you."_

Sensing that something was about to happen, AC struggled against his bonds, but to no avail. The men in the white coats moved forwards, and suddenly AC felt himself tipping backwards as the gurney was lowered into a horizontal position.

"_I'd be lying if I said this wasn't going to hurt, AC," _said Lex. _"But don't worry – the procedure only lasts two hours."_

"Fuck you, Lex!" shouted AC, helpless as the men moved silently around him. "FUCK YOU!"

Lex didn't reply. He switched off the microphone that was connected to the operating theatre, before turning to the man who stood next to him.

"So, Mr Durham - as you can see, I am a man of my word," he said crisply. "I trust that you will inform your employer that the merchandise is genuine?"

The other man smiled. "I think that will be possible," he replied, unable to take his eyes off the screen that provided a live feed of what was going on in the operating room.

"And the figure we discussed – I trust that is still acceptable?"

"Four million dollars, as agreed – but only if you give us Curry alive."

"Believe me, that won't be a problem," said Lex. "You'll have our watery friend there within twenty-four hours. I just need him for a little while longer – he has an important part to play in a little game I'm planning."

The man glanced across at Lex. "And he won't be damaged? My employer is most particular – if the freak isn't 100% then the price goes down."

It was Lex's turn to smile. "Mr Durham, tell your employer he has my personal guarantee – Curry will be handed over in pristine condition."

"Good. He's been hunting this guy for three years – he won't be happy…."

"I understand," interrupted Lex. "Believe me I do. And once I hand him over there's no chance he'll escape, I take it?"

The man grinned. "No chance – what we've got planned for Curry, he's gonna wish he'd stayed locked up in that pod of yours."

"Excellent! Well I think this deserves a toast – you drink scotch, I take it?"

The man nodded. Lex poured two drinks, before handing him a glass.

"What shall we drink to?" asked Durham.

"The end of the Justice League?"

"The end of the Justice League."

They clinked their glasses, before each taking a sip.

"Tell me," said Lex. "Your employer – forgive me, but his name is rather curious. A codename, I take it?"

Durham nodded. "I guess – but no one knows his real name."

"And this vendetta against Curry – it goes back a long way?"

"A _long _way. Last time they met Curry left him for dead - I can't wait to see the freak's face when he finds out that the Black Manta's finally caught up with him."

"Neither can I," said Lex, taking a second sip from his glass. "Neither can I."

* * *

><p><em>I'm alive!<em>

Roy couldn't quite believe it. His last memory was of Chloe standing over him, smiling as she plunged that syringe into his neck. She'd said he wouldn't wake up, and he'd believed her. Yet here he was, alive – how? His head ached so much he thought it was going to explode, but apart from that he seemed to have survived his brush with death relatively unscathed. Not that he could know for sure, of course; his hands and feet were still bound, and the pitch blackness that surrounded him made it clear he was still locked up in the freezer.

_Freezer…._

Something wasn't right. What had Chloe said? _This will just put you to sleep, and then the ice box will do the rest. _He was in a freezer, and yet he was hot – in fact, he was boiling. He guessed the heat had brought him round, but what he was experiencing now was not the result of some machine breaking down. The heat was stifling, and the temperature seemed to be increasing by the second. The sides of the box were hot to the touch; he tried to avoid them, but with so little room to move it was impossible. What the hell was going on?

He listened. Outside he could hear a crackling sound, like wood cinders snapping from an open fire…

_A fire – the place is on fire!_

Roy immediately began to pull furiously at his bonds. He knew he didn't have much time. The ice box was now an oven, and the fire outside was heating it up fast. Grimly he realised it might yet prove to be his tomb, but instead of dying quietly of the cold he faced the prospect of being asphyxiated, or worse, being burned alive.

The ropes wouldn't give. Chloe had trussed him up so tightly he could barely move his muscles, let alone work himself free. The more he struggled, the worse it became – and all the time the oxygen was being sucked out of the air. The box was like a furnace now; his skin felt as if it was on fire, and he was beginning to gasp for air.

He gave up struggling. He was spent; whatever energy he had left was now devoted to gulping the last remaining mouthfuls of air into his aching lungs. Images flashed through his mind, images of Oliver and AC. They were the only real family he'd ever known; he just wished they'd had more time together, more time to be the hero he'd always dreamt of being….

Suddenly he heard the jarring sound of metal on metal. He barely had time to register that something must have hit the freezer before the lid above him began to move. There was a rush of air, perhaps the sweetest sensation he had ever felt, and then light flooded in. Momentarily blinded, he felt himself being lifted clear, before coming to rest on his rescuer's shoulder. There was the sensation of movement, sudden and dramatic; then, inexplicably, the feeling of cool fresh air on his face.

Sensing he was now lying on the ground, he opened his eyes. He'd hoped to find Oliver or AC staring down at him, but he was to be disappointed; instead he found himself looking straight up into the eyes of Bart Allen.

Confused, he began to struggle against the ropes that still held him fast. As far as he was concerned Bart was the enemy, someone who had already tried to kill him once before and who was now firmly under Luthor's spell. He assumed he must have escaped from Emil and joined forces with Chloe, that his rescue was all part of some twisted game they were playing…

"Easy, Roy – it's okay."

The words were spoken not by Bart, but by another, very familiar voice. Emil appeared above him, smiling reassuringly. He reached down and carefully removed the gag that had kept him silent for so long.

"What…?"

"It's okay, Roy," said Emil, anticipating the teenager's question. "I did it – I found a way to reverse the effects of Luthor's drugs. Bart's fine now – he's one of us."

"That's right, dude," said Bart, an enormous grin on his face. "Lex fucked me up, but I'm okay now – thanks to Emil."

A wave of relief washed over Roy. He couldn't quite take in what was happening. Seconds earlier he'd faced almost certain death, and now this – it was almost beyond belief.

"Roy," said Emil gently, his face darkening. "What happened here? Where are the others? Where's Oliver?"

* * *

><p>Bart's back! Stand by for a sidekick team-up with Roy, as they try to save Ollie and AC. Don't think it's going to be easy, though - heroes <strong>never <strong>have it easy in my fics!

After the drama of the last chapter I hope you enjoyed this one. Ollie, AC and Roy are my faves, so it was great to be able to give them each a section. As you can see, Oliver's in a bad way, and Lex hasn't even started on him yet... As for AC, the most underused character on Smallville, I enjoyed bringing in some of his backstory - if only the show had allowed us to see a face off between him and Black Manta, rather than just that glimpse of Manta as part of Marionette Enterprises.

Thanks for all your continuing support. Please, please do post a review if you can - every bit of feedback is appreciated, and encourages me to keep going!


	24. Chapter 24: Hope and Despair

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Hope and Despair**

"So Lex has got Clark and Chloe – man, this is so fucked up!"

Bart brought his fist down hard on the table, unable to contain his anger and frustration. Together with Roy and Emil, he was sitting in a small basement room in downtown Metropolis, just one of a number of safe houses set up by Oliver to be used in the event of an emergency. They'd arrived there fifteen minutes or so earlier, having made sure they weren't followed. Recovered from his ordeal, Roy had proceeded to tell them all he knew – how Chloe had jumped him and locked him up in the ice-box, and how she had clearly intended to kill him. He knew nothing of the fate of Oliver and AC, but none of them were in any doubt that they had been taken – or worse. Emil and Bart had arrived back at the base to find it ablaze, and it was only because Roy was still wearing his tracker that Bart had been able to find him and pull him clear. Apart from Roy the place had been deserted; no Oliver or AC, but luckily also no LuthorCorp goons. Their work done, they'd moved on – but to where? And what had happened to Oliver and AC?

"This is all my fault," said Roy gloomily. "I should have known something wasn't right. If I'd been more alert, if I'd trusted my instincts….."

"Dude, you got nothing to feel guilty about," said Bart. "If anyone's to blame it's me – if I'd been stronger, stopped Lex's apes screwing with my head…."

"No one's to blame," said Emil. "Not you, not Clark, not Chloe. The drug that Lex is using is extremely powerful – it's not like anything I've ever seen before. Once it's in your bloodstream there's nothing you can do to stop it. It warps your perception, makes you exceptionally susceptible to suggestion – it was very easy for Lex to turn you into his puppet."

"What's it like?" asked Roy. "How does it make you feel?"

"Man, it's difficult to put it into words," said Bart, his brow furrowed in concentration. "It's like you're you, but you're not you – does that make sense? I could still remember stuff, it's just I wasn't remembering it straight. It was crazy, dude – just fucking crazy! And now Chloe and Clark have that shit inside them – man, we've got to do something!"

"The look on Chloe's face when she locked me up in that ice box – it was like she was another person," said Roy gloomily. "She wasn't just carrying out Lex's orders – she looked as if she was _enjoying_ it."

There was silence for a few moments, each of them lost in their thoughts. Things were bad – very bad. They'd been in tight spots before, but then they'd had someone else to lead them. Now they were on their own; not only did they fear for Oliver's safety, but they were also painfully aware of his absence.

"What will Lex do with them?" asked Roy eventually. "Will he brainwash them like Chloe and Clark?"

"Unlikely," replied Emil. "Lex hates Oliver – hates him more than anyone else in the world. He'll want to hurt him, make him suffer. Same with AC. They'll be tortured, both of them – our only consolation is that Lex's desire to exact his revenge means that he won't think about killing them any time soon."

"Some consolation," replied Roy. "We may have an antidote, but if we don't know where they've taken them we're stuck at first base."

"Unfortunately the computers here haven't been upgraded," said Emil, glancing across at a couple of laptops. "I can't access Oliver's database of LuthorCorp facilities, let alone identify where Oliver and AC might be being held."

"What about your lab? Could you access it from there?"

"I don't think we can risk going back there. Chloe's certain to have told Lex about it – the place is probably crawling with LuthorCorp men just waiting for us to return."

"So we're screwed," said Roy, sighing heavily.

"Maybe – maybe not," said Bart, thinking out loud. "What if they've taken them to where they kept me? The place was top secret, and there were cells there – just right for Lex to play his fucked up little games."

"It's possible," replied Emil doubtfully. "And you know where this place is?"

"It's about forty miles out of Metropolis – big place, stuck in the middle of nowhere," said Bart, getting to his feet. His mood had suddenly changed; he appeared animated, fired up by the prospect of action. "Well, what are we waiting for? Oliver and AC need us – let's go get 'em!"

Emil and Roy exchanged glances; it was clear they didn't share Bart's sudden excitement.

"Look guys, I know it's a long shot," said Bart, sensing their scepticism. "But what have we got to lose? At least this way they've got a chance – stay here and they're as good as dead."

Roy and Emil said nothing. They knew that the chances of finding Oliver and AC were slim; Lex had dozens of facilities all around the world, any one of which he might be using to hold their friends. Even if they did get lucky and find them, any rescue mission was almost certainly doomed before it even began. Luthor's men would be on their highest state of alert, and with Clark working for Lex the odds were stacked heavily against them. The situation looked almost hopeless, but despite this they knew that Bart was right; they had to do something, or Oliver and AC would die.

"So who's with me?" asked Bart impatiently. "You guys in, or am I flying solo?"

Roy got to his feet. "I'm in," he said simply.

Bart grinned. "Sidekicks to the rescue, yeah?"

"Sidekicks to the rescue."

"Emil, you with us?"

"What do you think?" replied the scientist, standing. "Someone's got to keep you guys from getting yourselves killed."

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Bart made for the door, Emil and Roy following close behind. Whatever their doubts, all three felt a new sense of purpose; it was good to be doing something, even if they had no idea where it would lead.

"How are we going to gain access to this base when we get there?" asked Emil as they got into their van. "If Oliver and AC are being held there Lex is certain to have stepped up security."

"I've been thinking about that," said Bart. "I think I know how we can get inside – I'll tell you on the way."

The doors to the van slammed shut. There was a screech of spinning tires, and then they were gone.

* * *

><p>The first thing that AC was aware of was the cold. It was a damp, gnawing cold, one that penetrated every fiber of his being. It did, at least, serve to dull the pain, the pain of a beaten and abused body that had been denied water for so long. Slowly the fog that clouded his mind began to clear, a jumble of memories and images coming into all too sharp a focus. He wished they hadn't, wished he could blot out the memory of a broken Oliver shackled in a cell, of Chloe's sickening touch on his skin. Reality, however, could not be ignored, just as he could not ignore the chains from which he now hung, suspended a foot or so from the ground.<p>

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He was back in a cell, the blank whitewashed walls broken only by the heavy steel door directly in front of him and the surveillance camera that watched silently high up in one corner. Looking down, he could see no obvious sign of what they'd done to him in the operating room. Clad in his spandex tunic and pants, he looked just as he had done when they'd dragged him away hours earlier. He didn't just look the same; he felt the same, too. The bruises and cuts he'd sustained during the beatings he'd been subjected to still hurt like hell, just like the blisters that now scarred his body. But there were no new wounds, no fresh source of pain; whatever Lex's "procedure" involved, it had left no obvious mark. He felt relieved, but also uneasy – they'd done something to him as he lay helpless on that gurney, but what?

Suddenly the silence was shattered by the sound of an alarm, so loud it made AC jump. He barely had time to register what was happening before he heard a click directly above his head. He looked up, just as the automatic sprinkler system sprang into life.

_Water!_

AC could hardly believe it. His heart leapt as water began to fall from the ceiling, quickly drenching his parched and battered body. Immediately he understood; somewhere something had triggered a fire alarm, which in turn had activated the sprinkler. Tilting his head back, he almost laughed as the life giving liquid soaked his face and hair. It seemed incredible, almost farcical - after all the trouble Lex had gone to capture him, his goons had left him shackled beneath the one thing that could restore his strength! Not for a second did he question what was happening. For him this was the break that he'd been waiting for, the long overdue stroke of luck that would allow him to rescue Oliver and turn the tables on Lex. After all, he was the hero, right? Didn't heroes always win in the end?

Like a dried-up river bed springing to life after months of drought, AC could feel his powers returning. Within seconds his scars disappeared, washed away by the healing balm of the water that flowed over him. Gone too was the pain, every inch of his body rejuvenated within seconds of the water's first touch on his skin. Letting out a triumphant roar, he pulled at the chains that held him. Immediately they snapped, no match for the strength that now surged through his muscles. He dropped to the floor, just as the door to the cell was flung open. Three LuthorCorp guards rushed in, but they were too late; AC swatted them away as if they were nothing more than flies buzzing around his head. Stepping over their bodies, he ran out of the cell. He found himself in a long, wide corridor, doors spaced at intervals along its length. He paused for a second, trying to decide whether to turn left or right; he knew that Oliver might be being held behind one of the doors, and his immediate priority was to find his friend.

"Freeze!"

AC turned, to find a squad of Lex's guards rushing towards him. He didn't run, but instead squared up to them as they approached, a broad grin on his face.

"On your knees – now!" ordered one of the men. Like the other members of his team, he looked on edge, the exact opposite of the relaxed young man who was their target.

"I said on your knees!" he repeated. "Do it, or we'll shoot!"

Still smiling, AC did as he was told. Cautiously the men approached, their guns all trained on AC's head.

"Cuff him!" ordered the man. The guards now surrounded AC. One of them stepped forward, a pair of handcuffs in his hand.

"This is a joke, right?" said AC incredulously. "You think you can take me with a pair of _cuffs_?"

The men exchanged nervous glances.

"Okay, dude – don't say I didn't warn you!"

Before the men had time to react, AC launched himself at his attackers. He barrelled into three of them, sending them flying into the walls so hard they were immediately knocked unconscious. The others tried to take aim with their guns, but at close range it was impossible to get a clear shot. That, of course, was just as AC intended; he'd deliberately drawn the men in, so that his newly restored physical strength would give him the advantage. The outcome was never in doubt. It took him a little under a minute to dispose of the others, leaving him standing triumphant amidst a sea of broken and unconscious bodies.

"Bravo, AC – bravo!"

AC's heart skipped a beat.

_Lex!_

He turned. Lex stood a few feet away, seemingly unconcerned at being alone with a man who moments before had taken down an entire squad of his men.

"That was quite the display you put on there," he continued calmly. "It doesn't take long for you to recover your strength, does it? A little drop of water and Aquaman is as good as new."

"Cut the crap, Lex," said AC, any fear he felt at the sudden appearance of his captor hidden behind a mask of supreme confidence. "Where's Oliver?"

"All in good time, AC – all in good time," replied Lex playfully, a smile forming on his lips. "Surely you want to know why I let you have your powers back?"

AC hesitated, not sure of how to respond. He felt confused, uncertain; the excitement of moments earlier had gone, replaced by a growing sense of unease. Was this another of Lex's games? If it was, what the hell was going on?

"You don't really think that sprinkler went off by chance, do you?" said Lex. "I always knew you were stupid, Curry, but really?"

"No more games, Lex!" said AC angrily, choosing to ignore the alarm bells that were ringing ever louder inside his head. "What have you done with Oliver, you twisted piece of shit!"

Lex didn't reply. Instead he calmly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like some sort of cell phone. He studied it for a moment, before holding it up so that AC could see it.

"Do you know what this is, Curry?" he asked. "It's called a ZSR34T. It took the finest minds in LuthorCorp's Research and Development Division six months to develop this little handset, not to mention ten million dollars. Doesn't look much, I know, but it was worth it. Do you want to know why?"

AC said nothing. Instinctively he sensed a trap was closing in around him, but what was it?

"It allows me to do this."

Lex's thumb pressed down on the handset's display. AC barely had time to react before a high pitched scream filled his head. Instinctively he covered his ears, but it made no difference – the sound originated not from an external source, but from inside his mind. Worse was to come. Sharp, excruciating pains suddenly afflicted every muscle in his body. Arms, legs, chest, head – nothing was immune. It felt as if he was being stabbed time and time again by some invisible attacker, an attacker against whom he had no defence. Powerless, he dropped to his knees. He stared at Lex, terrified, uncomprehending; the other man returned his gaze, a pair of compassionless eyes seemingly unmoved by his suffering. He let out a strangled cry, his agony so all-consuming he could barely speak; he then fell to the floor, rolling onto his side to try to escape the pain. There was to be no respite, however; instead the screaming inside his head seemed to get louder, the cuts of the invisible knife more frequent….

"Does it hurt, Curry? They tell me the pain is so bad a normal man can only endure it for ten seconds."

AC looked up. Lex towered over him, the device still in his hand.

"A freak like you, however – well, we just don't know, do we? A minute? An hour? A day? How long before the pain becomes so bad all you want to do is die?"

"Wha…What have you done to me?"

Lex's smile widened. "A neural chip – no bigger than a pin head. Attached to the cerebral cortex, when it's activated by this little device it has the power to inflict untold pain on its victim. As you can see, it's most effective. I'm told it has a range of a thousand miles – incredible, isn't it? I could be on another continent, and still have the power to snuff out your miserable life in an instant."

AC's eyes widened in horror, the terrible truth of what had happened in that operating theatre now all too clear.

"Luthor…!" he gasped. The pain was unbearable now, but he refused to beg; he'd rather die than give Lex the satisfaction of hearing him plead for mercy.

"Luthor? No, I don't think so," sneered Lex, casually rolling AC onto his back with the sole of his boot. "I think master sounds a whole lot better, don't you?"

He squatted down next to AC, pausing for a moment to enjoy the mixture of fear and anger he could see in the young hero's eyes. He had done it again – he had humbled a member of the mighty Justice League. And it didn't matter he'd captured Curry before – the kick he got out of seeing him broken and in agony was a buzz like no other.

"How does it feel, _Aquaman_," he jeered, his lip curled in contempt. "How does it feel to be helpless? Your mine now, freak - drink all the water you like, there's nothing you can do to escape. With that chip in your head I can make you do anything – _anything. _I own you now, and believe me – the fun's only just beginning!"

* * *

><p>Lex is up to no good - will Roy, Bart and Emil get there before it's too late? Lots of twists and turns ahead, I promise - I've just got to find the time to write them!<p>

Sorry it has taken me so long to update, but I do hope to publish another chapter in the next couple of weeks. Please do post a review if you can - let me know you are still out there!


	25. Chapter 25: Who's fooling who?

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Who's Fooling Who?**

Tony Flynn was bored.

It was the fifth day in a row he'd got the night shift, hour after hour of tedium watching an empty road for the car that never came. They had been put on the highest state of alert, told to expect an attack at any time. It made no sense to him, just as it had made no sense to the other guys when they'd talked things over; with Curry and Queen safely locked up inside, just who the hell were they expecting to attack? They had all been hoping for some leave now that Lex had rounded up the last of the freaks, and when orders came saying that there would be no leave for at least another two weeks they had all been seriously pissed off. Tony, however, had made the mistake of shooting his mouth off just as the section leader had walked into the canteen. Fredericks was not a man known to tolerate dissent, and so here he was – stuck on the graveyard shift yet again.

_Fucking bastard,_ he thought to himself. _When was the last time he did the night watch at the gates?_

It wasn't just Fredericks's punishment that was irritating him – it was the fact that he was missing all the action taking place in the facility behind him. Like all of Lex's men, he'd hoped to have a ringside seat as Lex set to work on Oliver and AC. He'd been at the wrong end of a beating from the Justice League on more than one occasion, and a couple of his friends had been badly injured protecting LuthorCorp interests from the attention of Queen and his band of vigilantes. Now it was payback time, and he was gutted that he was not a part of it. They all knew that Lex was a sick sonofabitch, and speculation of what he had planned for the two heroes once he had them in captivity had raged for days up to their arrival. Now they were finally here, and he was missing out, condemned instead to watch an empty road through the long, dull hours of darkness.

A sound suddenly broke the silence. Flynn looked up, gazing out of the guardhouse window into the inky blackness of the night. Nothing appeared to be moving, but he could definitely hear what he thought was the sound of a car's engine, gradually getting closer and closer….

For a few moments he did nothing, but continued to sit, listening. Hours of inactivity had dulled his senses, and he wasn't quite sure if what he was hearing was really real. There was no denying it, however; a car_ was_ approaching. No visitors were expected, and it couldn't be someone who'd taken a wrong turn, as the exit to this facility off the main highway was well hidden. Whoever it was, they knew where they were headed – straight to Lex's most secure facility, and straight to Tony Flynn.

Flynn grabbed his gun and stepped out into the cool night air. As he did so the lights of the car finally came into view, about a mile or so up the road. His heart beating a little faster, he reached for the earpiece which connected him to his control room.

"Control, do you read me? Come in, Control."

There was no answer.

"Come in, Control."

Still no answer – just the crackle of static in his ear.

_Wake up, you fuckers!_ he thought to himself. _Am I the only one doing my fucking job?_

"Control, are you there? Answer me, damnit!"

The car was close now, its lights shining brightly in his face so that he had to shield his eyes.

"_What do you want, Flynn? Have you run out of cookies or something?"_

"Code Yellow, Control," said Flynn, ignoring the other man's jibe. "I have an unidentified vehicle approaching the main entrance – request immediate back up."

"Copy that, Flynn – back up on its way."

The car pulled up about twenty or so feet from the entrance. Adrenalin pumping, Flynn levelled his gun straight at the driver's seat.

"Step out of the car, and keep your hands where I can see them!" he ordered.

The car door opened. A young man got out; Flynn guessed he was in his late teens – twenty at the most.

"Dude, relax!" he said, apparently unconcerned by the gun that was now aimed directly at his head. "We're all friends here, yeah?"

"Who are you? Want do you want?"

The teenager grinned. "Hey, don't you recognise me?" he asked. "It's Bart – Bart Allen. And what I want is to see Lex Luthor."

* * *

><p>His hands cuffed behind his back, Roy Harper walked briskly down yet another faceless corridor. He was a prisoner, the two heavily armed guards who marched to either side of him an all too visible reminder of his newfound captivity. Outwardly, he appeared cowed; inside, however, it was a different story:<p>

_The plan was working - they were in._

He still couldn't quite believe it. Bart pretending to still be under the influence of Lex's drugs, turning up at Luthor's top secret base with Roy as his supposed "prisoner" – the plan was so crazy it seemed doomed to fail at the first hurdle. And yet it was working; they'd got past the gates, and now here they were, moving ever deeper into the heart of Lex's operation. Ahead of him Bart strode confidently forward, exchanging jokes with another of Lex's goons. He seemed completely at ease, without even a trace of nerves. Roy knew, however, that the jokes had a purpose; he was trying to win the guy's trust, so that he could find out the whereabouts of Oliver and AC. They still didn't know if they'd hit the jackpot, and found where Lex was holding their friends. Time was slipping by – how long would their luck hold?

They came to a halt in front of a door. One of the guards knocked and then went inside, followed by Bart. Roy felt the prod of a gun barrel in the small of his back; pushed forwards, he stumbled through the doorway.

The room beyond was a world away from the drab corridor they had just left behind. The walls were covered in oak panelling, on which was hung a selection of oil paintings, each almost certainly an old master. To the left, a log fire crackled reassuringly in the grate, whilst to the right two large bookcases stood to either side of a large TV screen mounted on the wall. The room was dominated, however, by the large antique desk that stood directly in front of them. Behind it sat a figure Roy instantly recognised. Lex was studying them intently, his face impossible to read. Suddenly the teenager felt a pang of anxiety; fooling the guards was one thing, but fooling Lex? That was something else entirely.

"Lex!" said Bart, greeting him like some long lost friend. "When I heard you'd got Oliver I guessed you'd bring him here – dude, when I get my hands on that fucking sonofabitch…."

"And how do you know I've got Oliver?" interrupted Lex. He spoke quietly, calmly, but it was clear from his tone that he had yet to be convinced that everything was as it seemed.

"You mean he's escaped? Man, soon that piece of shit is gonna run out of lives."

"You haven't answered my question, Bart – how do you know I've got Oliver?"

Bart hesitated for a fraction of a second, before turning to Roy.

"The kid told me," he said, gesturing towards Roy. "I found him at Ollie's base. Guess your guys must have missed him, so I thought I'd bring him in – knew you wouldn't want him running around out there causing trouble."

Roy could hear his heart thumping in his chest. Bart hadn't put a foot wrong, but the look on Lex's face made it clear that he had yet to be convinced.

"That's very considerate of you, Bart," he replied, glancing at Roy. "Chloe tells me the boy means a lot to Oliver – forcing him to watch him die will be most entertaining."

Roy blanched. It was bad enough hearing someone discuss your murder, but when the words came from the mouth of a ruthless killer like Lex it was enough to make your blood run cold.

"Chloe also tells me Oliver left you in the tender care of Dr Hamilton," continued Lex, turning his attention back to Bart. "Tell me, how did you escape?"

"From four eyes? Lex, please – I'm Impulse, remember? Fooling Emil was like taking candy from a baby."

_Fooling Emil, _thought Roy to himself. _Why has he said that?_

"Chloe says that Emil is working on some sort of drug – something that will undo the effects of my treatment," said Lex, getting up from his chair and walking around the desk so that he could confront Bart face to face. "How do I know he's not tested it on you, Bart? How do I know I can trust you?"

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, neither saying a word. Roy held his breath.

"You want to know if you can trust me?" said Bart at last, his mouth widening into a grin. "How about if I told you that Emil was holed up in a motel about ten miles from here, waiting for a signal from me that we've found Oliver and AC?"

Roy gasped. Horrified, he stared at Bart; he wanted to protest, but fear of exposure kept him silent. Giving away Emil's location was not part of the plan – what the hell was Bart doing?

"Sure, the doc's been working on a drug – even gave me a couple of doses," continued Bart casually. "That's what made it easy to fool him – all I had to do was say that I'd seen the light and that Ollie was a good guy and off came the restraints. Man, is he going to be pissed when he finds out his precious cure ain't worth a sack of shit!"

"Traitor!" shouted Roy, lunging towards Bart. The two guards grabbed him and held him back, but he continued to struggle furiously, the scale of Bart's treachery momentarily causing him to lose all control.

"The reaction of your friend here seems to indicate you're telling the truth," said Lex, looking on as his men struggled to restrain Roy.

"I was going to bring Hamilton straight to you, but when we found the kid at Ollie's hideout I figured I needed a change of plan. Told them I knew a way we could spring AC and Oliver – that we'd walk in here with the kid pretending to be my prisoner. And man, did they fall for it! Dumb fuck even allowed me to put those cuffs on him."

"I'll kill you for this!" shouted Roy. "I swear, I'll kill you!"

One of the guards drove his fist hard into Roy's stomach, causing him to double over in pain. Bart grabbed him by the hair and hauled his head upwards.

"Sorry, kid," he said, grinning from ear to ear. "But like I told you before, there's only room for one sidekick in the Justice League!"

* * *

><p>Bart's double crossed Roy and Emil! Hope you liked the twist, because believe me, there are plenty more to come! I have to say I've got the guys into such a bad situation I'm not sure even I know how I'm going to get them out of it. One thing I have decided - one of our heroes <strong>is<strong> going to die in this story, and this death will be permanent. Who's it going to be? You'll just have to wait and see...

Next chapter will shift the focus back to Oliver, who is in a very bad way. Lots more angst and adventure to come, I promise. Please do leave a review if you can - no reviews, and **all** the guys die! *evil laugh*


	26. Chapter 26: Broken

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Broken**

"Wake up, pretty boy."

The words cut through the fog of exhaustion and despair that clouded Oliver's mind. Surprised, he realised that he'd been sleeping – how long for he had no idea. Whether it had been minutes or hours, it didn't really matter; however briefly, his mind had escaped from the living nightmare that now threatened to overwhelm him. Physically, of course, there could be no escape, the manacles that shackled him to the wall of Lex's cell as secure as ever. Images of AC's face tumbled into his head, memories of the words of defiance he'd shouted as they'd dragged him away. They'd given him strength, the will to fight on, but now all that was gone. As his head began to clear he knew that despair, not courage, had grown stronger as he'd slept; the hopelessness that gnawed away at his soul was back, feeding on his exhaustion and sapping what remained of the spirit that had kept him going in the past when all had seemed lost.

"I said, wake up!"

There it was again – that voice. Oliver didn't respond; he remained motionless, his head lolling forwards onto his chest.

"Wake up, you fucking piece of shit!"

A hand grabbed Oliver's hair and jerked his head upwards, slamming his skull back against the wall. Oliver cried out in pain, his attempt to feign unconsciousness at an end.

"When I give you an order, boy, you fucking well obey it!" bawled Oliver's tormentor, so close he could smell stale cigarette smoke on the man's breath. Opening his eyes, Oliver found himself confronted by a thick-set man, well over six feet tall and dressed in the black uniform of a LuthorCorp guard. He glared at Oliver, his eyes flashing with hate; his face disfigured by a large burn that scared the entire left side of his face, he appeared like something out of a horror movie.

"Do you remember me, Queen?" he hissed, edging a little closer. Oliver could almost feel the man's pent up rage, the barely contained aggression that threatened to boil over at any moment. Wide awake now, he wracked his brain, trying to remember – who the hell was this guy?

"I said, do you remember me?" he asked again, this time grabbing Oliver by the throat and ramming his head against the wall for a second time.

"Answer me!" demanded the man, tightening his grip. Oliver stared wide-eyed at his attacker, unable to answer. He had no idea who he was, but instinctively he knew that whatever he said it didn't matter – this man was hellbent on hurting him, and nothing was going to stop that.

"I'm the guy you left for dead when you and your freaks attacked the 33.1 facility just outside of Carsville," he hissed. "Remember now, do you? Do you remember causing that fire that left me with this?"

He pointed to the scar on his face, his hand shaking with anger.

"I was months in the hospital, Queen, and you know what? All that time all I could think about was what I'd do to you if I ever had the chance."

Oliver said nothing. He knew what was coming – like countless other LuthorCorp employees, the man held a grudge against Oliver, and was hungry for revenge. Resigned to the beating he was about to suffer, part of him almost hoped that the man would kill him. Anything was better than the weeks, perhaps months of humiliation and torment that Lex had in store for him, all the time knowing that he'd lost the one thing that mattered more to him than any other – Chloe.

"And now here you are, the big hero all dressed up in his fancy leathers – not so tough now, are you Queen?" continued the guard, jeering at his captive. "Lex says we can't hurt you, but I never was very good at taking orders. You're mine now - and I'm going to fuck up that pretty face of yours."

Without warning he then punched Oliver straight in the face. The suddenness of the attack caught Oliver off guard, and he had no time to prepare himself; blood spurted from his nose, and within seconds the metallic taste of blood seeping from a cut to his lip filled his mouth.

"Did you like that, Queen? Did you?" asked the man, now so pumped up he could barely keep still. "Cos this is just the beginning – by the time I've finished with you your own mother won't recognise you!"

A second blow, much harder than the first. The man's fist caught the side of Oliver's face, causing his head to flip violently to the left. Dazed, Oliver struggled to focus; normally he would have been able to withstand the man's assault for longer, but hours of captivity had left him spent, both physically and emotionally.

A third punch, this time to his right cheek. Reeling, Oliver gasped in agony. Helpless, he hung like a rag doll from his chains, blood and saliva dribbling obscenely from his mouth. Unable to protect himself, all he could do was to pray for the blow that would knock him out – or worse…..

"That's enough!"

Oliver looked up. Chloe was standing in the doorway of the cell. Days earlier he would have welcomed her appearance, but not now; this was the new Chloe, the Chloe who had betrayed him, and who now wore a LuthorCorp uniform as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Lex made it clear he wasn't to be harmed – what the hell are you doing?"

She scowled at the guard. There wasn't a trace of compassion in her voice, no sense that she felt sympathy for her former lover; all she appeared interested in was a subordinate disobeying orders. Unable to bear what he was seeing, Oliver bowed his head. He'd lived in fear of this moment ever since he'd regained consciousness. Now it had arrived, he almost wanted the guard to start punching him again; anything was preferable to having to come face to face with the monster that now inhabited the body of the woman he loved.

"Your superiors will hear about this," continued Chloe, advancing on the guard. She was tiny in comparison to the other man, but it was clear who was in charge; the guard said nothing, almost appearing to wither under the intensity of her gaze.

"Now get out," she ordered. The man didn't need to be asked twice, and after a final glance at Oliver he hurried from the room.

Now the two of them were alone together. For what seemed like an eternity to Oliver, Chloe said nothing. Unwilling to look up, all he could see were her boots just a foot or so in front of him, polished to such a high shine he could almost see his reflection in them. Foolishly, for a fleeting moment he wondered if she'd come to rescue him after all, if she wasn't just waiting for the guard to leave before releasing him from his chains and telling him it was all going to be alright. It wasn't, of course; he knew she was there to hurt him, and what came next only served to confirm his worst fears.

"Look at me, Oliver."

She spoke quietly, softly – so softly he almost thought he could hear something of the old Chloe in her voice. Slowly, hopefully, he raised his head. Immediately his hopes were shattered; a pair of cold, heartless eyes stared back at him, accompanied by a smile of mocking contempt.

"Look at you!" she said, her smile widening as she looked at Oliver's bruised and bleeding face. "You're a mess, Oliver – and we can't have that, can we?"

Pulling a bottle of water from her tunic, she poured some over some tissues and then began to wipe away the blood from Oliver's nose and mouth. He said nothing, but instead put all his remaining energies into avoiding catching her gaze.

"Here, drink," she said, putting the bottle to Oliver's lips. He hesitated, before gulping the water down.

"Chloe," he gasped, as she drained the last few drops down his throat. "Chloe, please listen to…."

"Don't talk!" she snapped, slapping him hard across the face. It was like someone had flipped a switch inside her head; he had dared to challenge her, and her response was immediate and brutal.

"You're not in control anymore, Oliver – I am," she said angrily. "So you don't speak unless I say so, understand?" She was like some school yard bully, picking on the weak kid who couldn't protect himself.

Shaken, Oliver didn't respond. That was a mistake; she slapped him again, this time even harder.

"I said, do you understand?"

Oliver nodded. He felt sick; tears were welling up in his eyes, and it was all he could do to stop himself crying.

"What – did you think you were going to talk yourself out of those chains? That I was going to fall for that shit you fooled me with for all those months?" she continued. "Those days are over, Oliver. I know what you really are, what you've done – and I'm going to enjoy watching Lex make you pay."

Despite everything, Oliver was still taken aback by the venom in Chloe's words. There was hate there, a sadistic hate that seemed to revel in the thought of the hell Lex had planned for him. What she said made no sense, of course – Luthor's drugs had seen to that.

"I have to say, I like the new image," she continued, taking a step back. Her anger was fading, to be replaced by something altogether more callous, more calculating. "Tied up, beaten, bloodied – as looks go, this is seriously hot. Maybe we should get a photographer from one of those men's fashion magazines in here, the ones you love so much? He could do a great photoshoot – make a change from all those pictures of you in those Armani suits, wouldn't it?"

Oliver said nothing, but just stared at the ground. Chloe's cruelty was too much to bear; the tears were rolling down his cheeks now – desolate, anguished tears, the tears of a man who could take no more.

"Aww, don't cry!" said Chloe, gently taking him by the chin and lifting his head. She moved closer, so that her body touched his. He could feel the familiar contours of her body, smell the scent of her favourite perfume, the perfume that was one of the first gifts he had ever bought her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, forcing her hands between his body and the wall. Pulling him tighter, she began to kiss him – first on the neck, then on the face and lips. They were rough, brutal kisses, her lips seeming to feast on his bruised and battered skin. Appalled, Oliver stood rooted to the spot, helpless as she forced herself on him. Tears ran down his face as memories of the precious times they had spent together filled his mind, memories that were now to be soiled forever. For there was no love in these kisses, nothing of the intimacy they had shared in the past. These kisses were about power, about control. She wanted to hurt him, violate him, and she knew that nothing would serve her purpose better than to remind him of the life he had lost.

"What's the matter, Oliver?" she said breathlessly, her lips hovering next to his. "You used to like it when I kissed you. What's wrong? Don't you like it now I'm in control?"

"Chloe, no…!" he begged, his voice cracking with emotion.

"What – you want me to stop?" she said. "Okay, Oliver, I'll stop – but not before I've let you in on a little secret."

Still breathing hard, she moved closer to whisper in his ear.

"You remember all those times we were together, Oliver? All those times we made love? When I said you were amazing, I was lying." She paused; she wanted him to have time to digest what she was saying, time to prepare for what was to come next. "And do you know something else, Oliver? Whenever we were together, whenever you were inside me, I wasn't thinking about you:

_I was thinking about Clark."_

She stepped back, eager to enjoy the impact of her words on the stricken hero. Oliver stared back at her, blinking back the tears through red, swollen eyes. She smiled. Lex had been right; those few short words had hurt him more than any torture could ever do.

"No…. no, you don't mean that," he sobbed, searching her face for something – anything – that might offer him some comfort.

"Oh, but I do, Oliver," she said, a twisted smile forming on her lips. "I never loved you, Oliver – not even when I believed in you. You were just an easy fuck – nothing more, nothing less. I've always loved Clark, and now, thanks to Lex, he's finally mine."

She'd chosen her words carefully, crafted them into a weapon deadlier than any knife. She wanted to hurt him, and the heartless, almost casual way in which she trashed the relationship that they'd shared had done that as surely as if she'd thrust a dagger straight into his heart. It didn't matter that he knew this wasn't Chloe, that this was Lex's drugs talking; her words still cut him to his very core. Perhaps it was because they played on his fears, on the suspicion he'd always harbored that deep down Chloe's bond to Clark was something more than friendship. Was Lex right after all? Did his so-called treatment simply release feelings and emotions that had long since been repressed?

"Miss Sullivan."

Chloe turned. Two LuthorCorp guards stood in the doorway.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Everything's ready – Mr Luthor says we're to bring the prisoner now."

Chloe turned back to Oliver. "Do you hear that, Oliver? Guess we'll have to finish this little catch-up another time."

She stood aside, allowing the guards room to do their work. Quickly they unchained Oliver from the wall, before forcing his arms behind his back and tying his hands together. Oliver offered no resistance; reeling from the viciousness of Chloe's assault, he appeared in a daze.

"Now, let's have a look at you," said Chloe when eventually the guards finished their work. She stood in front of him, looking him up and down. Hunched forwards, he looked a shadow of his former self, as if Chloe's words had sucked what was left of his spirit right out of him.

"Cheer up, Oliver!" she said. "Lex has got some great entertainment lined up, and I just know you're going to love it! Just one thing we need to do before we go, I think."

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a roll of duct tape. Tearing a strip off, she pressed it down hard over Oliver's mouth, stretching it taut so that the outline of his lips could just be made out through the silver grey fabric. It was the final humiliation, a last act of petty brutality from a woman who for well over a year had meant all the world to him.

"There – perfect!" she smirked. "We wouldn't want you spoiling the party, now would we? And believe me – Lex has got one hell of a party lined up for us, one I think you're going to remember for a very long time!"

* * *

><p>Poor Ollie - how much more can we put him through? Actually, quite a lot - just wait until you read the next chapter... *evil laugh*<p>

Hope you liked this one. As you can see, I'm really piling on the angst - but we wouldn't have it any other way, right? The next chapter is going to be full of drama, but it won't be posted for a few weeks - real life getting in the way again.

Thanks so much for all your continuing support - it really does mean a huge amount. Interesting to read your thoughts about who might die, but I haven't changed my mind - one, maybe two, of our heroes will not survive this story, and **no one, **I mean **NO ONE, **is off limits. Please do review if you can - feedback matters so much!


	27. Chapter 27: To the Death

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: To the Death**

_**Warning: Serious Hero Whump and Angst Ahead**_

Flanked by two guards who held him tightly by the arms, Oliver was marched down a succession of featureless corridors, each one indistinguishable from the last. Not that Oliver noticed; shattered by what had happened moments before, he was hardly conscious of anything, save for the sound of Chloe's heels clicking on the hard floor as she walked three or four steps ahead. He had seen the effects of Luthor's drug before, how it had turned Bart from a smart-mouthed street kid with a heart of gold to a vicious sadist who delighted in the agony of his former friends. That was nothing, however, compared to what it had done to Chloe. It wasn't that she'd hurt him – he'd been ready for that. It was the way she'd enjoyed it, almost revelled in it. The smirk on her face as she'd run her hands over his body, kissed him in a grotesque perversion of the love that they had shared; it was a smile he knew that he would never forget, so long as he lived. Every touch, every word had been carefully chosen, each designed to humiliate him, violate him. He had endured any number of horrific torments at the hands of Lex and others since he'd donned the leathers of his alter ego, but those few short minutes alone with Chloe had done something which no one – not even Slade Wilson – had managed to do:

They had broken his heart.

"This is it – hope you're ready for some fun, Ollie."

Chloe's words brought Oliver back to reality with a start. Looking up, he found that they had come to a halt in front of a door. Chloe grinned, her smile sending a shiver down Oliver's spine; whatever new horror lay on the other side of the door, he knew instinctively that again it would test him to the very limits of his endurance. As she typed an access code into the electronic keypad he wondered if he had the strength to face what was to come. Fortunately, perhaps, he didn't have time to answer; the door slid open, and he was dragged inside.

The room beyond was not what Oliver had expected. Instead of some cell kitted out with implements of torture he found himself in a large, airy room, furnished with a dozen or so leather chairs grouped around three or four coffee tables. A small bar filled the wall to the right, whilst straight ahead a wall of glass stretched from floor to ceiling. It was this which allowed natural light to flood the room, bathing everything in the warm glow of a summer's afternoon. Beyond the glass Oliver could make out a balcony, but what it overlooked he couldn't tell. The furnishings, the deep, soft carpeting, the oak panelled walls – it all reminded him of the executive box he'd once used to entertain guests when the Metropolis Sharks were playing a home game.

A dozen or so people were stood around talking as he entered, all with glasses in their hands. Immediately a hush fell over the room, all eyes turning towards him as he was marched forward.

"Oliver – so glad you could make it!"

Beaming, Lex stood in the center of the room, a glass of champagne in his hand. Oliver scowled, the sight of his captor momentarily driving away the doubts and despair of moments earlier. Whatever happened, he was suddenly possessed of an overwhelming desire to stay strong; Lex might have all the cards stacked in his favour, but he was damned if he was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing him break.

"Glass of champagne?" asked Lex. "It's a 1990 Krug – excellent vintage, so they tell me. I found it in your cellar when I took over Queen Industries. You always did have exquisite taste, Oliver – except, perhaps, when it comes to your choice of evening wear."

Lex's reference to Oliver's costume elicited laughter from his guests. The greens of his leathers stood in stark contrast to the sleek, well cut suits of those who surrounded him, the tape that covered his mouth and the shackles that bound his wrists only serving to make him appear even more incongruous. The Green Arrow was a hunter, a man who fought in the shadows, but here he appeared out of place, even absurd. That, of course, was exactly what Lex had intended. He had planned this latest piece of theater down to the smallest detail, and now his guest of honor had arrived he intended to enjoy it.

"Sure I can't tempt you? It really is very good," he continued, taking a sip from his glass. "We're all celebrating, you see – celebrating the fact that this resurrection act of yours is finally at an end. You had us all going there for a while, Oliver, but we both know this could only end one way. But like I told you, there is one consolation in all of this – I get to kill you all over again."

A second murmur of approval from Lex's guests, who were clearly enjoying the show their host was putting on for their benefit.

"But I'm forgetting myself! Some introductions," said Lex, turning to his left. "Tony Cardwell, meet Oliver Queen. Tony, I don't think you've met Oliver before, have you?"

"No, we've never met," said the man, staring intently at Oliver. "But I'm sure he remembers me – when his band of freaks hit my operation in Star City I lost forty million."

"Forty million! That's serious money, even if it is only small change to our billionaire friend here," said Lex, his face a picture of feigned concern. "Oliver's crime spree has cost many of us a great deal of money, but I hope that tonight's little show will offer you something by way of compensation."

"It already has, Luthor – it already has," replied Cardwell, his dead eyes still fixed on Oliver like some predator sizing up its prey.

Oliver did remember Cardwell. He'd been one of the leading mobsters in Star City before he, Bart and AC had taken down his cocaine smuggling operation. The man had been ruined; now he was here to enjoy Oliver's destruction.

"And I'm sure you remember Russ Bircher," continued Lex, moving on to his next guest. "After all, you did kill his brother."

The man stepped forward, and without saying a word drove his fist straight into Oliver's gut.

"That's for Stevie," he snarled, watching as Oliver doubled over in pain. "I'm going to enjoy watching you die, you fucking piece of shit!"

Bircher was another of the League's success stories. He'd run a drugs and prostitution racket in Metropolis until they'd put his operation out of commission. Three of Bircher's men had refused to surrender, and two – including Bircher's brother – had died in the ensuing firefight. Bircher had been taken into custody, and at his trial he'd sworn vengeance on the Green Arrow. Oliver had no idea how or when he'd got out of prison, but he guessed Lex might have had a hand in it; he'd clearly gone to great lengths to gather together as many of Oliver's former enemies as he could possibly find.

Four or five more introductions followed. Oliver recognised them all, a true rogues' gallery of mobsters and criminals. Each one of them had suffered at the hands of the Justice League, and each one of them was now keen to bear witness to the humiliation of its leader. Like a pack of hyenas circling a wounded lion, they eyed Oliver with hungry, hate-filled eyes. Every one of them would gladly have cut his throat in an instant, but for now they appeared content to play their part in Lex's latest game.

"And finally some old friends," said Lex, turning his attention to two figures who had stood to the side as the others were introduced. "I'm sure you remember Jack Richards. Your right hand man at Queen Industries – who'd have thought that dear old Jack here was a double agent working for me? He's been invaluable in helping me take control of your assets, Oliver – truly, I think he knows more about the Queen fortune than you do!"

Oliver turned to look at Richards, fixing him with a cold stare of contempt. He'd trusted him, rewarded him handsomely for his years of apparently loyal service. In return he'd betrayed him, handing Lex the keys to Queen Industries and playing his part in Oliver's spectacular fall from grace. Faced with the man he'd helped to destroy he appeared uncomfortable. Unable to look Oliver in the eye he stared at the ground, perhaps wishing it would open up and swallow him whole.

Next came a man who had no such qualms about seeing Oliver again. Ken Hoskins had taken a lead role in Oliver's downfall, a willing collaborator in Lex's elaborate plan to destroy the JLA. It was his evidence that had helped convict Oliver of the murder of Dean Caruso, a murder that in fact had been carried out by Slade to frame the Green Arrow. The last time Oliver had seen Hoskins he'd been a quivering wreck, terrified by the return of the vigilante he'd thought was dead. Now that fear was gone; instead the old Hoskins was back, the maggot who had made his way to the top through a mixture of corruption and crime. He leered at Oliver, his delight at his former tormentor's predicament all too clear.

"Hello, Queen," he sneered. "You don't look so good. What's the matter – surely the Green Arrow hasn't got himself all beat up by his crazy ex-girlfriend, has he?"

This time it was Lex's turn to laugh. "Ken, that's low blow!" he exclaimed, walking over to where Chloe stood, silently watching proceedings. "There's nothing crazy about Miss Sullivan here – far from it. Since freeing herself from our friend over there she's a new woman, and it's quite a revelation, I can tell you! Who'd have thought that sweet little Chloe Sullivan had such a penchant for violence, but she has. She's made quite a name for herself with my security division – Roper has already picked her out for promotion." He paused, looking over to where Oliver stood, staring blankly ahead. "You should be pleased, Oliver – not only has she finally won the man of her dreams, but she's also now got herself a whole new career!"

Oliver didn't respond. He continued to stare straight ahead, his blank expression giving nothing away. He'd experienced enough of Lex's theatrics in the past to know that this was just the opening act, and that something far worse was to follow. All he could do was to prepare himself mentally for whatever lay ahead, and try to ignore the ball of fear that was gnawing away at his gut.

"Well now, gentleman, now that our guest of honor has joined us, I see no reason to delay our little entertainment any longer," declared Lex, making his way towards the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. "What was it the Romans used to say? Let the Games begin!"

He stepped out onto the balcony, closely followed by his guests. Sensing danger, Oliver didn't move, until the press of a gun in the small of his back propelled him forwards.

The balcony overlooked a large compound, about the size of a football pitch. The surface, however, was concrete, not grass, and it was surrounded on all sides by high walls. At some time in the past it had probably acted as a parking lot, but now it was to serve a new and altogether more sinister purpose.

"Welcome to the arena, gentlemen!" exclaimed Lex. "Not quite the Coliseum, I know, but I'm sure you'll agree that what you are about to see is a spectacle to rival anything you might have witnessed in ancient Rome."

Oliver's heartbeat quickened. Standing at the back of the group, his view was obscured and he couldn't see clearly. However, already he sensed what was coming, sensed the danger that was all too close now….

"And so let's welcome our modern day gladiators," continued Lex, acting as if he was some latter day Roman master of ceremonies. "On my right I present to you the champion of LuthorCorp, a man who has proved invaluable in the destruction of the JLA:

Clark Kent, aka Kal El!"

Lex led the others in a round of applause. Out of sight of Oliver, Clark strode into the center of the arena. Dressed in a black spandex costume with a large LuthorCorp logo emblazoned on the chest, he appeared supremely confident, as if he owned the stage on which he was to now perform.

"And on my left, the challenger," said Lex. "The surf boy who's even less intelligent than the fish he loves so much:

Arthur Curry, aka Aquaman!"

This time there was no applause, only laughter. Flanked by two guards, AC was led out into the center of the arena. Dressed in his costume, he appeared unfazed by what was happening, staring up at the balcony defiantly as if daring Lex to do his worst.

"And so here they are - two former teammates, now sworn enemies," continued Lex. "Both are possessed of superhuman strength, as we all know to our cost. But now we have a chance to see who is stronger – who is the freak of freaks!"

Lex's words confirmed Oliver's worst fears. He intended to make Clark and AC fight, a sick "entertainment" for his mobster friends which he too would be forced to witness. The outcome wasn't in doubt; AC was strong, but in a straight fight against Clark he didn't stand a chance. That, of course, was the point – Lex wanted to make Oliver and AC suffer, and in engineering this contest he had found a uniquely twisted way of doing it.

"I won't do it, Luthor – I won't fight for you!"

AC's voice echoed clearly off the walls of the arena. Although he still couldn't see his friend, Oliver's heart swelled with pride. AC sounded strong and fearless, just like he'd always done when they'd gone on missions together.

"We have a reluctant player, gentlemen," purred Lex, amused by AC's show of resistance. "Surely the mighty Aquaman isn't scared?"

"Come fight me yourself, Lex – then we'll see who's scared!"

Lex laughed. "Ahh, thus speaks the brave hero! Sorry, Curry, but you will fight – you know what will happen if you don't."

Oliver watched as Lex pulled what looked like some sort of cell phone from his jacket pocket and held it out in front of him. He had no idea what it meant – but AC did.

"You can zap me all you like, Lex," shouted AC. "Kill me if you want – I won't play your fucked up little game!"

"You're a brave man, Curry – dumb, but brave," said Lex. "Allow me to present you with a more _persuasive_ argument."

He turned and nodded to the guards who held Oliver. They shoved him forwards, forcing him to his knees at the very edge of the balcony. For the first time Oliver caught sight of his friend, who stared back at him, his expression a mixture of anger and surprise. A split second later he felt movement behind him. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, before a knife was placed against his throat. Caught off guard, Oliver looked up, to find Chloe staring back at him.

"So you see you will fight for me, AC," continued Lex calmly. "Fight, or he dies."

"Let him go, Luthor!" shouted AC. "Let him go, you sick fuck!"

"Ahh, I think we've hit a nerve, gentlemen!" said Lex. "All that anger – should make our little contest that bit more interesting!"

Oliver and AC stared at each other. Both knew that they were trapped – both knew that this could have only one ending. Oliver strained against the tape that silenced him, trying to work it loose…

"So, what will it be, Aquaman?" continued Lex. "A duel to the death, or Oliver's life?"

_Duel to the death…._

Desperately, Oliver tried to work his mouth free. He needed to warn AC, tell him not to throw away his life...

There was a moment's silence. Grim faced, AC took a last look at Oliver, and then turned his attention towards Lex.

"Okay, Luthor – I'll do it," he said quietly, seemingly resigned to his fate.

"What was that? I didn't quite catch it."

"I'll do it, damnit – I'll fight!"

"No! AC, it's not worth it! Don't fight – don't play his game!"

All eyes turned towards Oliver. He'd managed to work the tape loose, and now – breathlessly, desperately – he wanted to save his friend, save him from what they both knew was little better than a death sentence. For a second or two no one moved, even Lex taken aback by Oliver's unexpected intervention.

"AC, listen to me! He's going to kill us anyway – don't let….."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" hissed Chloe, clamping her hand hard over Oliver's mouth and reducing his pleas to little more than a muffled cry. Oliver tried to fight against her, but her grip rendered him powerless. With clinical efficiency she then pulled some material from her jacket pocket, scrunching it up into a ball before stuffing it into Oliver's mouth. Oliver almost gagged as the rag reached down into the back of his throat, but before he had time to spit it out she began to wrap more tape around his head, anchoring it in place. Stretched taut across his mouth, the tape was so tight it sliced into his cheeks and the back of his neck. She circled his head three or four times with the tape, until, satisfied that he was silenced for good, she dropped the roll and picked up the knife, once more pressing it against his adam's apple.

"Thank you, Miss Sullivan," said Lex. "Your ex never did know when to keep his mouth shut, but I don't think he'll be interrupting us again, will you Oliver?"

Oliver ignored Lex. Instead he stared down into the arena, at the young friend who was now going to make the ultimate sacrifice. AC returned his gaze. He didn't speak – he didn't have to. They were brothers, and both knew that even had Oliver been able to plead with him for another hour, another day, it would have made no difference. He was going to fight – there was no alternative.

Lex turned back to the arena. He looked at each of his would-be gladiators in turn, his smile broadening as he did so. He was going to enjoy this – he was going to enjoy this very much indeed.

He raised his hand, as if he were an emperor signalling the start of the Games.

"Let battle commence!"

AC turned, to find Clark staring back at him. His body was tense, every nerve and every sinew on edge, waiting for his former friend to make his move. Clark, in contrast, appeared relaxed, grinning broadly as he began to circle his prey.

"What are you waiting for?" he said, taunting his old teammate. "We both know I'm going to kill you, so let's get this over with quickly, yeah?"

AC did not reply. Grim-faced, he continued to watch as Clark circled his position, never once taking his eyes off his foe. Inside he was desperately trying to figure a way out of Lex's trap, turning over plan after plan in his mind and all the time knowing it was hopeless, that the end was coming…

"Tell you what, I'll give you a free shot at taking me down – how's that for fair?" asked Clark, coming to a halt and holding his arms out to his sides in a gesture of surrender. "Come on, AC – do it! Do it for the team – do it for Ollie!"

There was a moment's silence, onlookers and fighters all realising that the time had come. Then, letting out a mighty roar, AC charged at Clark, barrelling into him with such force he was sent flying through the air. He landed on his back, the concrete cracking under the force of the impact. AC knew there was no going back. He hurled himself on top of Clark and began to hit him, raining blows down on his head with every ounce of strength he could muster. In readiness for the fight Lex's guards had hosed AC down before he entered the arena. His powers were at full strength, and the beating he handed out to Clark was ferocious. Any outsider witnessing what was happening would have said Clark was finished, that he had no chance. AC, however, knew otherwise, and as his fists pummelled Clark until they bled he knew it was useless. The other man was playing with him, even laughing as punch after punch found its mark. Both men knew that Clark was just biding his time, waiting for his moment to strike….

"That all you got?" jeered Clark as at last AC began to tire. The other man stared down at him; spent, he had nothing more to give.

"Come on, AC! Make Oliver proud – fight!" continued Clark.

"No…. No, I can't….." gasped AC, barely able to speak.

"Really? Then I guess it's my turn!"

Clark reached up and grabbed AC. Then, still lying on his back, he hurled the other man high into the air. There was an audible gasp from those assembled on the balcony as AC flew dozens of feet across the arena, like a ball thrown during a football game. Eventually he came to earth, hitting one of the walls with an almighty thud and sending masonry and dust flying in all directions.

Now it was Clark's turn to go on the attack. He'd thrown AC half the length of the arena, but the other man barely had time to register what was happening before Clark was standing over him.

"Enjoy that, fish boy?" he sneered, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "No? Well suck on this!"

He drove his fist hard into AC's gut. The blow was so powerful it seemed to force AC into the very fabric of the wall, more dust and brick work falling away under the force of the impact. Three or four more punches and AC was barely conscious, but Clark was in no mood to give up now. Dragging AC from the wall, he then tossed him high into the air for a second time. Again he came crashing to the ground with a sickening thud. Groaning, he rolled onto his side, blood and mucous running from his mouth and nose. Part of him wanted to fight, but physically he was beat; at least half a dozen bones had already been broken in Clark's savage assault, and every fiber of his being seemed to be screaming in silent agony.

_Soon now – soon it will be over…_

"Had enough yet, _bro_?"

AC looked up, to find Clark towering over him. He tried to speak, but his mouth was filled with blood; instead of words a grotesque gurgle of blood and spit dribbled from his lips.

"You're finished, AC," gloated Clark. "The mighty lord of the oceans, and look at you now – so fucked up you can't even talk."

Stung by Clark's words, AC tried to get up. Slowly, painfully, he pulled himself to his knees. Even the smallest movement was agony; his head was spinning, and he could barely see his tormentor through the tears of anguish that filled his eyes. Still a mixture of pride and anger drove him on; he was damned if he was going to give up, damned if he was going to give Luthor the satisfaction of seeing him yield whilst he still had breath in his body…..

Clark laughed. "Still trying to be the hero, AC? Lex is right – you really are one dumb son-of-a-bitch."

In a move reminiscent of some martial arts movie, he pivoted 360 degrees and kicked out with his right foot. AC didn't stand a chance, the blow hitting him full square in the face. His head flipped upwards, blood spurting from his mouth as he fell backwards to the ground.

"Magnificent – absolutely magnificent!" cried Lex from the balcony, leading his guests in a round of applause. "Gentlemen, I promised you a spectacle, but this has exceeded even my expectations!"

He glanced down at Oliver, still on his knees with Chloe's knife at his throat. She'd made sure he'd seen everything, pressing the blade harder against his skin and holding his head tightly so that he had no choice but to watch the horror unfolding below. Despite himself, tears were welling up his eyes. He'd been forced to watch his teammates being tortured before, but nothing had prepared him for this. The brutality was unbearable, and the fact that it was Clark seemed to make AC's plight a hundred times worse.

"What's the matter, Oliver?" asked Lex, his grin widening. "Does it hurt to see your precious League tear itself apart?"

Below them there was a mighty roar. All eyes turned back towards the arena, where Clark was holding AC high above his head, like a victor displaying the spoils. AC didn't move, his head lolling lifelessly like some rag doll.

Chloe leaned down. "Watch this, Oliver," she whispered. "Watch your boyfriend die!"

Suddenly Clark dropped AC like a stone, bouncing the young hero's back on his knee as he did so. There was a sickening crack as AC's spine split in two. The sound seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds, as if announcing to the world that it was over – that Aquaman was gone.

"Ohhh, bravo - bravo!," exclaimed Lex, leading his guests in yet another round of clapping. "What a climax! Gentlemen, I give you Clark Kent – destroyer of the Justice League!"

Clark smiled. He raised his hand to acknowledge the applause, the triumphant gladiator accepting the plaudits of an adoring audience. At his feet lay AC, his shattered body lifeless and unmoving.

Two LuthorCorp men ran out into the arena. One of them reached down and felt for a pulse on AC's neck. After five or six seconds he looked up, shaking his head.

"I'm afraid the show appears to be over, gentlemen," said Lex apologetically. "Looks like Aquaman has gone to that big fish tank in the sky. Shame – whatever we might think about our friend Curry, the boy certainly had guts. More than can be said about this one, of course – you always have hid behind your money and your freaks, haven't you Oliver?"

He stepped over to where Oliver knelt, positioning himself directly in front of the stricken hero. Chloe grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, so that he had no choice but to look up into the eyes of the man who had destroyed everything he had ever held dear.

"Did you enjoy that, Oliver?" asked Lex, staring down into a pair of red, swollen, hate-filled eyes. "Did you enjoy watching AC die? I did, and just think – this is only the beginning. You have no idea how many different ways I'm going to hurt you, how I'm going to make you pay for what you've done. I'm going to make you suffer, Oliver – suffer so much you're going to wish you'd never been born!"

Behind Lex, down in the arena, Lex's guards dragged AC's corpse away, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

* * *

><p><em>AC is dead!<em>

Well, I did warn you that some of the guys weren't going to make it. I love AC, so it hurts to see him go - I hope you agree, though, that he died like the true hero we all know and love. And okay, I admit it - Clark lifting AC high in the air and then breaking his back was inspired by the Bane/Batman fight in the Dark Knight Returns.

Lots more twists and surprises to come, I promise - including some you won't expect. Things will start to look up for our guys in the next chapter, I promise - but Lex has also got a few more nasty surprises in store.

Thanks for reading, and thanks to all you amazing reviewers - your support is just awesome! It sounds crazy, but at the moment I can't stop thinking about another story idea I've got, where Ollie and the guys go up against Desaad. It's got some great twists (as well as a whole lot of angst, of course) - should keep me going for another couple of years, if I ever manage to finish this one!

Please do leave some feedback if you can - all reviews greatly appreciated!


	28. Chapter 28: Twisting the Knife

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Twisting the Knife**

Lex strode purposefully down the corridor, his pace so quick the guards who accompanied him could barely keep pace. There was a spring in his step, and for good reason. He'd expected Clark to defeat AC, but the brutality with which the kryptonian had dispatched his former friend had left him feeling exhilarated. Images kept playing over and over again in his head, images of AC being held aloft like a trophy, his body then broken and tossed aside like an unwanted child's toy. A memory to savour, to treasure – just like the memory of Oliver's face when he saw his friend lying dead in the arena, a picture of utter hopelessness and despair. He was glad he'd had the fight recorded, and that he'd also had a camera capture Oliver's reactions; those would be moments he would want to relive time and time again in the weeks and months to come.

It wasn't over, of course – far from it. He had more games he wanted to play with his "guest," more torments waiting to be revealed. Hurting Oliver had become his obsession, his mind constantly thinking of new ways in which to inflict pain on his captive. Ever since they'd been at Excelsior together he'd been in Oliver's shadow, and all those years of hurt and pain were at last finding their release. At school Oliver had been the guy who'd excelled at sports, the one who'd always come top of the class; drop dead gorgeous with that dazzling smile of his, of course he'd always got the girl, too. He, meanwhile, had been the awkward, shy kid, the one Oliver and his friends had bullied and humiliated to score cheap points. A seed of hate had been sown during those years they'd spent together at the Academy, a seed that had grown and flourished as they had both entered adulthood. Time and again Oliver had bested him in business, the handsome billionaire whose touch turned everything to gold. It was _his_ face that had graced the covers of countless magazines, _his_ smile that beamed out of the pages of the gossip columns. The only attention Lex had received was from his father, constantly telling him he was a failure, that he wasn't fit to carry the Luthor name. And then, finally, had come the discovery that it was Oliver who was the face under the hood, that it was he who had put together a band of misfits to destroy all that he had built at LuthorCorp. Years of frustration, years of festering jealousy and hate – it had all found expression in his pursuit of Oliver's alter ego. Now, finally, he had won. He'd taken everything that Oliver cared about – his reputation, his fortune, his friends, even the woman he loved – and left him with nothing. Now it was Oliver who was alone, afraid – just as he had been alone and afraid all those years ago at Excelsior.

A little over an hour had passed since the events in the arena. Lex had said goodbye to the last of his guests, and he was now eager to see how his prisoner was taking AC's death. Oliver had been returned to his cell after the fight had ended. Lex had no doubt that he too would have been playing out those terrible scenes in his head, reliving the moment that AC's back had been broken. He wanted to see his pain, feed off his anguish and despair; more than that, he wanted to pile on the agony, humiliate him still further.

The guards at the door to Oliver's cell stood to attention as Lex approached.

"The prisoner is secure, sir," reported one of them, typing in an access code in anticipation of Lex's desire to enter.

"Did he give you any trouble, Santos?"

"No sir," replied the guard, his mouth cracking into a smile as he pushed open the door. "Seems like leather boy's giving up the fight."

Lex stepped inside. Oliver hung lifelessly from the chains that shackled him to the far wall, his wrists and ankles secured so that he could present no threat to his visitor.

"Oliver, Oliver!" said Lex, crossing the cell to where Oliver stood. "What's all this I'm hearing about you giving up the fight? Don't tell me it's true – don't tell me my favourite hero has quit on me already?"

Oliver didn't move. His body slumped forwards, his weight carried by the thick chains that held him securely to the wall. His head, too, hung downwards, his chin resting on his chest. His gag had been removed, but the only sound that came from his mouth was the sound of air passing in and out of his battered lungs. He appeared to be unconscious, but Lex had no intention of allowing his prisoner to escape that easily.

"Come on Oliver, don't be shy!" continued Lex, leaning down so that he could see Oliver's face. "Where's the defiance, the witty riposte to put me in my place? I thought the Green Arrow had a line for every occasion?"

Still Oliver didn't move, his eyes remaining firmly shut. Was he really unconscious, or had his courage finally failed him?

"Well I have to tell you I'm disappointed, Oliver," said Lex, taking a step back. "Perhaps I should have thrown you into the arena instead of AC – at least surfer boy was a fighter."

He nodded to Santos, who stepped forward and grabbed Oliver by the hair, slamming his skull back against the wall. In spite of himself, Oliver cried out in pain, his eyes snapping open. Lex stood waiting, the ever-present grin a sickening reminder of who was in charge.

"Oliver, you weren't faking it, were you?" he asked playfully. "The leader of the Justice League, playing dead – hardly what heroes are made of, is it? What would AC say if he could see you now, I wonder – discovering that the leader he'd given his life for was nothing more than a snivelling little coward?"

Oliver's jaw tightened. He knew what was happening; Lex was goading him, trying to provoke a reaction. He was determined not to give him the satisfaction, but it was hard. He felt exhausted, physically and emotionally drained. Despite himself, he'd been unable to hold back the tears when at last they'd left him alone in the cell, the grief and guilt he felt at the loss of his friend almost overwhelming him. He'd sobbed uncontrollably, unable to hold in check the torrent of emotions that swirled within him. Even as he'd cried he'd felt ashamed at his weakness. AC had died a hero, and he'd done nothing to save him. All he could do was cry – what sort of a man did that make him?

"Awww, have you been crying?" asked Lex, observing Oliver's bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. "You really mustn't be so hard on yourself, Oliver. Killing Curry was always part of my plan, just like eventually I will kill you. There's really nothing you could have done to save him – nothing at all. And you have to admit, he did die well – watching Clark take him apart has to be one of the most exciting things I've ever seen in my life!"

Oliver made no reply, but simply scowled at his captor, his red, swollen eyes now flashing with anger.

"You and AC were close, I know," continued Lex. "Must be hard - losing a friend like that. That is, if he was just a friend." He paused, his grin widening. "Which reminds me, Oliver, there's something I've been meaning to ask you. All your freaks - they are quite handsome, aren't they? AC, Victor, Clark – all those chiselled cheekbones and perfect teeth, they wouldn't look out of place modelling for Abercrombie and Fitch. So many pretty boys, Oliver – is there something you'd like to tell us? Something you'd like to share?"

Lex's thinly veiled innuendo produced a murmur of approval from his guards. Encouraged by their response, Lex pressed forward with his attack.

"Of course - it all fits!" he continued, as if seized by a sudden revelation. "That womanising reputation of yours was just a front. Chloe told me you were a lousy lover – no wonder, if all the time you were with her you were dreaming of making out with fish boy!"

The guards grinned. Lex was on good form, and they were enjoying it.

"I'm sorry I had to break the two of you apart, Oliver - you would have made a lovely couple," said Lex. "Aquaman would have been quite a catch – if you'll pardon the pun!"

This time the guards laughed out loud. Snarling, Oliver pulled at his chains, but still he didn't speak; he wasn't going to play Lex's game, whatever the provocation.

"What's this – have I touched a nerve?" asked Lex innocently. "Don't worry – there's plenty more fish in the sea. Talking of which, I thought you might like to know that Roy and Emil are safe – my men are just making them comfortable now."

The colour drained from Oliver's cheeks, the meaning of Lex's throwaway remark impossible to miss.

"That's right, Oliver – the remnants of your little insurrection are all locked up safe and sound," continued Lex, enjoying the fear he could detect in the other man's eyes. "Bart delivered them straight into my hands. That boy is quite something, isn't he? Just like Chloe, I think he's got a great future ahead of him here at LuthorCorp."

Devastated by this latest blow, Oliver slumped forwards against his chains. He wanted to throw up; after the loss of AC, the thought of what Lex might do to Roy and Emil….

"Emil's a talented man – I think I might be able to make use of him," said Lex, thinking out loud. "As for the kid, well….."

"Lex, please – don't hurt him," begged Oliver, looking up at his captor. He knew it was pointless, that he was doing exactly what Lex wanted him to do, but still he had to try; he couldn't stay silent and let Roy die.

"What's this – don't tell me you've fallen for another cute guy with a pretty face?" taunted Lex. "Nice set of leathers you've given him, by the way. I can see how you modelled them on your own. Tell me, who is your tailor? I like Clark's costume, but I can't help thinking it's missing something…."

"Lex, he's just a kid," interrupted Oliver, pleading with the gloating monster who stood before him. "Drug him, make him work for you, but please – don't kill him."

"Sorry, Oliver, but the boy has to die," said Lex, as if he regretted something that was out of his control. "I take no pleasure in his death, but he means something to you, and that means I have to kill him – just like I had to kill Curry. You see I've made a promise to myself, to take from you everything – _everyone _– you love. Only then will your punishment be complete, will justice have finally been served. "

"Lex, please…..!" said Oliver, his voice choked with emotion. "Torture me, kill me, but please – don't do this!"

"Torture you?" repeated Lex. "Ohh, don't worry, Oliver, I have every intention of torturing you – torturing you in ways you can't even begin to imagine. In fact, we'll be making a start tomorrow. I've booked you a ringside seat for when my men begin work on Harper. They tell me they've got something particularly inventive lined up for the boy – apparently they'll be able to hear his screams as far away as Metropolis!"

It was too much for Oliver. Drawing on reserves of energy he didn't know he had he lunged at Lex, straining so hard against his chains for a second it looked as if he might pull them clean off the wall. "Damn you, Lex!" he screamed, his eyes wild as he continued to pull at his bonds. He appeared like something possessed, pulling this way and that in a frenzied attempt to lash out at the man whose evil seemed to know no bounds. "I'll kill you for this! I swear – I'll fucking kill you for this!"

Lex took a step back, watching Oliver's fit of impotent rage with an air of amused detachment. It had taken him a few minutes, but finally he'd done what he'd set out to do; he'd got under Oliver's skin.

Santos stepped forward. "Show some respect, your fucking piece of shit!" he hissed, savagely backhanding Oliver across the face. Momentarily dazed, Oliver fell silent, his rage at an end.

"Oliver, Oliver, you really should save your strength," purred Lex. "Roy is going to need you tomorrow – how's he going to feel if his idol hasn't got any fuel left in the tank?" He paused, pulling his cell from his jacket pocket. "You're hurting, I know. It must be tough – watching AC and not being able to do anything about it. But it's not all bad news – here, take a look at this."

He held out his cell. Slumped forwards, Oliver continued to stare blankly at the floor.

"Look, Oliver – believe me, it will make you feel better."

Still Oliver did not respond.

"Do as your fucking well told, boy!" growled Santos, grabbing Oliver by the hair and yanking his head upwards. His brain still spinning from moments before, it took him a few seconds to focus on the small screen in front of him. At first he couldn't make out what he was seeing; then, terribly, the image became all too clear…..

It was a picture of Chloe and Clark lying on a bed, naked but for a sheet that lay loosely across their legs. Lying on their sides, they appeared to be sleeping, his arm lying protectively across her waist…..

"Two young people, so in love," said Lex. "Doesn't it make you feel all warm inside?"

He studied his captive's face closely. He'd planned this moment carefully, choreographed the whole encounter to build up to this, the coup de grace. He wasn't to be disappointed. One look at Oliver's expression said it all; desolate, he appeared crushed, as if his entire world had just come crashing down around him.

"No…," gasped Oliver, refusing to believe what his eyes were telling him.

"This is a live feed, by the way," said Lex, eager to twist the knife still deeper. "Apparently Chloe was keen to reward her champion after the fight, and…. Well, you can imagine the rest."

Tears welling up in his eyes, Oliver stared at Lex. "I'll kill you for this," he whispered, the certainty of his words matched only by their intensity. "I swear to God, I will kill you for this!"

"Really? I don't think so," replied Lex, slipping his cell back into his pocket. Like a cat tiring of a mouse it had caught, he'd had his fun; now it was time to bring this latest piece of theatre to a close. "Santos, fetch Dr Philips."

Santos stepped out of the cell. Within seconds he'd returned, accompanied by another man; the lab coat he was wearing indicated he was part of Lex's scientific research division.

"Mr Queen here is a little overwrought – I think he needs a shot to calm him down," said Lex, standing to one side. Sensing what was to come, Oliver began to struggle, but a swift punch to the gut quickly subdued him. Santos pinned him to the wall as the doctor took a syringe from his bag and prepared to inject him.

"Time for you to sleep, Oliver," said Lex, watching as Philips plunged the needle into Oliver's neck. "Big day tomorrow – we need you to be at your best!"

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. It was a fast acting drug, and within seconds his vision began to blur; five seconds later and he was unconscious.

Lex turned to Santos. "He's not to be touched, understand? If I find that you or your men have harmed a hair on his head before tomorrow he won't be the only one leaving here in a body bag."

Santos nodded. "I understand, sir – he won't be touched."

Satisfied that his orders would be followed, Lex took one final glance at his captive, before turning and making his way back out of the cell.

"Luthor!"

Looking to his right, Lex could see Cal Durham at the far end of the corridor. It was obvious the man was angry, his mood not improved by the two LuthorCorp guards who barred his way.

"Luthor, I want a word with you!" he continued, trying without success to push his way past the guards. "You gave me your word, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"He's been trying to see you for the last half hour," said another guard apologetically. "What should we do with him – lock him up?"

"Lock him up?" repeated Lex. "No, Mr Durham is my guest – leave this to me."

Calmly he walked down the corridor towards the other man, whose temper appeared to abate on seeing him approach.

"Cal, what's wrong?" he asked smoothly, gesturing for his men to step aside. "You look upset – tell me how I can I help."

"What's wrong? You know damn well what's wrong," replied Durham. "We had a deal, Luthor. You keep Curry for twenty-four hours, and then you hand him over to me – _alive. _Now I hear dolphin boy's dead, and that you had him gutted in some remake of a scene from gladiator. What the fuck's going on? My boss doesn't like to be messed around, Luthor, and he's not a man you want to mess with….."

"Cal, Cal, calm down!" interrupted Lex. "Everything's going to be fine, you have my word."

"So this gladiator shit isn't true?"

"No, what you've heard is true – Curry has been involved in a little piece of theatre I've put on for a few friends of mine."

Durham looked confused. "So how is everything going to be fine? Look, Black Manta won't pay four million for a corpse – he wants the freak alive."

Lex smiled. "Let me show you something," he said calmly, gesturing towards a door.

"If this is some sort of game, Lex…."

"No game, I promise – just something that's going to put your mind at rest."

Lex moved over to the door, typing an access code into the keypad on the wall to the left. The door slid back, and Lex stepped inside; dubiously, Durham followed.

The room beyond was a large laboratory, filled with computers and scientific equipment of every kind. Durham's eyes, however, were immediately drawn to the huge tank that stood in the center of the room. Glass sided, it must have been well over twelve feet tall. It was filled with a translucent green liquid, but it wasn't that which caused Durham's jaw to drop.

"What the fuck…?" he gasped, staring at the body which appeared to be suspended in the middle of the tank. Attached to a variety of tubes, AC floated freely in the liquid, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping. He looked like some sort of specimen, preserved to be experimented upon by the dozen or so scientists who busied themselves about the lab.

"Is he…?" asked Durham, transfixed by the extraordinary sight in front of him.

"Dead?" said Lex. "No – our friend Mr Curry here is very much alive, I can assure you."

"So what the hell is this?"

"He's healing, that's all. My team have analysed his DNA and developed a chemical compound that will leave him as good as new in around nine hours from now. Incredible, isn't it? The marvels of science never cease to amaze me." He gazed up at the tank, as if he were admiring some great work of art.

"But they told me he was dead – that Kent had beaten the crap out of him and broken his back," replied Durham, still not quite believing what his eyes were telling him.

Lex smiled. "Yes, my guests do all think he's dead, that's true," he said. "All part of the illusion, you see. I needed it to look real, so that Oliver would believe it - if any of my visitors had known the truth then they might have given the game away. In fact Curry's life was never in danger – Clark was under strict instructions to maim, but not to kill."

Durham shook his head. "You are one sick son-of-a-bitch, Luthor," he said. "All this to hurt this Queen guy? And I thought Black Manta was twisted!"

"I'll take that as a compliment," replied Lex dryly. "So as you can see, I haven't broken my word – I will hand over Curry tomorrow, as agreed. Tell your boss I will expect the four million to be in my account before he leaves this facility."

"I'll tell him," said Durham. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Lex."

"The feeling's mutual, Cal," said Lex, the two shaking hands. "Now how about a drink? I'm dying to hear what your employer has in store for our watery friend. It might give me some fresh inspiration about how to hurt Oliver – thinking up new ways to torture people can be quite exhausting!"

The two men turned and made their way towards the door. Behind them AC hung silently in the tank, the regular beeping of the monitors he was hooked up to the only sign that he was still alive.

* * *

><p>AC's alive! Sorry for deceiving you all - I feel as bad as Lex. This is the second time I've killed AC, only to bring him back - third time and he might not be so lucky...<p>

I do still intend to kill off one of the guys permanently, and it could still be AC - anything could happen as we move towards the climax of the story. In the next chapter things will at last start to go right for our heroes, but whether it's in time to save poor Ollie you'll just have to wait and see.

Thanks to all you amazing reviewers - as always, you are my inspiration, motivating me to write more. Please do post a review if you can - a few words can make such a difference!


	29. Chapter 29: Trust me, bro

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Trust me, bro**

Cal Durham stood impatiently by his truck, staring at the doorway which led to the cells. He was eager to get on the road; they had an eight hour journey ahead of them, and he wanted to reach his boss's base before nightfall. Lex had promised that Curry would be ready by now, but fifteen minutes after the agreed handover time and still no one had appeared. The unexpected delay left him irritated, his mood not improved by the fact that he was nursing a hangover from the night before. He and Lex had spent a few hours sampling his collection of single malts, and now he was paying the price. He consoled himself with the fact that he could catch up on some sleep during the long journey that lay ahead, the two men he had brought with him already told that that they were sharing the driving. They sat in the back of the truck, relaxed and apparently content to wait as they listened to music on their headphones. Behind them stood the thick steel bars of what appeared to be a cage, its door open and ready to receive its prisoner….

Durham looked at his watch. It was 11:19 – nearly twenty minutes after the scheduled handover time. "_Where the hell is he?" _he thought to himself. _"He wouldn't do this if the boss was here – he wouldn't dare."_

He was just weighing up whether or not to go and find out what was happening when there was the sound of voices coming from the corridor. Moments later Lex emerged, accompanied by Santos. Behind them followed AC, surrounded by six heavily armed LuthorCorp guards. Shackled with a pair of leg-irons, he shuffled awkwardly forwards, taking the smallest of steps as he edged across the floor. Handcuffs bound his wrists together in front of him, the two sets of manacles attached to each other by a heavy steel chain. As if to remind everyone of his captivity, a muzzle had been strapped tightly to his head. Like one half of a hockey mask, it completely covered the lower part of his face, save for a tiny grille over his mouth to allow him to breathe. He looked like a convict, which was exactly as Lex intended; only his costume and the anger that sparkled in his eyes served as a reminder of the fear he had once inspired in those who now stood guard over him.

"Apologies for the delay – our friend here doesn't seem to want to leave," said Lex briskly, striding over to where Durham stood waiting. "Still, a few shocks from my controller soon brought him into line – that, and some more traditional encouragement from Mr Santos."

Santos grinned, pushing AC forwards and causing the young hero to stumble. Durham could see a fresh cut above AC's right eye, presumably the price he'd paid for resisting his captors as they'd readied him for the handover. Otherwise, he appeared unharmed; whatever mix of chemicals had been in that tank, they had certainly done their work.

"Incredible, isn't it?" said Lex, as if reading the other man's mind. "I told you I'd hand him over in perfect condition – well, here he is."

Stepping past Lex, Durham confronted his soon-to-be prisoner. The two men eyed each other for a few moments, AC at first not recognising the man who stood in front of him. Then he remembered – and suddenly everything became all too clear…..

"Recognise me, Curry?" sneered Durham, spotting the fear that for a split second flashed in the other man's eyes. "Sure you do, cos we go way back, don't we? Way back to when you sabotaged that rig in the South China Sea. I lost five men that day, Curry – five good men that would still be alive today if you'd just kept your fucking nose out of it!"

Silenced by the mask, AC could not respond. He had sabotaged the rig, and five men had died – but that was only half the story. What Durham hadn't mentioned was how the rig had been responsible for polluting a pristine marine environment, destroying the livelihoods of hundreds of local fishermen, and how when some of those fishermen had complained they'd been brutally murdered by those very same men who'd died on the rig. Durham had been working for a security company then, but now he had new employer, a man whose hatred of AC had led him to pursue the young hero across the oceans of the world…

"Well now it's payback time, _Aquaman_," sneered Durham, his upper lip curling in contempt as he said the young hero's name. "Black Manta's waited years to get his hands on you. We're gonna dry you out and then we're gonna fuck you up, pretty boy – fuck you up so bad you're gonna wish that Kent guy really had killed you in that arena."

AC's eyes widened at the mention of his arch-enemy's name, but otherwise he betrayed no emotion. His feud with Black Manta went way back, long before he met Clark and Oliver. The two of them had clashed over a dozen of times, and on at least three occasions he'd only just escaped with his life. He knew that Black Manta had sworn to hunt him down and kill him. It made sense that Lex would have been in contact; after all, both men shared an obsession with destroying a member of the Justice League. Grimly, AC now understood everything. Lex had used him to hurt Oliver, and now he was to be handed over, no doubt for a handsome profit.

"It promises to be quite a reunion!" said Lex, joining the two of them and slapping AC on the back as if he were an old friend. "I wish I could be there, AC – I really do. But you know how it is – Oliver will get so lonely without me!"

Furious, AC glared at Lex. He was trapped, and he knew it. His powers fully restored, he could have broken the chains that held him in an instant, but it would have been pointless. The implant attached to his cerebral cortex meant that now he was little more than a slave; one push of a button and he would be forced to his knees, crippled by waves of excruciating pain.

"You'll be needing this," continued Lex, handing Durham what looked like a cell phone. "If our friend here gets a little frisky, press 1 – should bring him to heel in an instant. Not that I'd expect him to give you any trouble, not after what happened the last time he tried to escape."

Durham took the device, slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks, Lex, but we've got our own way of keeping fish boy here in line. Rogers, the necklace."

One of Durham's men stepped forward and handed him a steel ring, about the size of a man's neck. Two inches thick and hinged on one side, it was featureless save for a small box attached to its outside edge. AC watched as Durham opened the box and punched a series of numbers into a tiny touchscreen. Moments later there was a short sequence of electronic beeps, before the ring sprang open. Grinning malevolently, Durham then reached forward and fixed the ring around AC's neck. Again there was a series of electronic beeps, this time slightly longer than before. Suddenly AC felt the ring begin to tighten around his neck, digging into his skin and constricting his windpipe. Panicking, for a spilt second he thought he was going to choke. Then, without warning, the tightening stopped. Again he heard a sequence of electronic notes, before the collar locked shut.

"So…. this is what, exactly?" asked Lex, looking from AC to Durham and mildly irritated that for once he was in the dark as to what was happening.

"An explosive collar," replied Durham, staring at AC and enjoying the look of fear and uncertainty in his eyes. "If he tries to escape, it'll blow his head off. The lock's tamper proof, too – break the seal without the right code and it'll be curtains for fish boy. We're not taking any chances, Lex – he's escaped too many times for us to take any risks."

"An explosive collar!" repeated Lex, clearly impressed by Durham's explanation. "What do you think about that, AC? Seems to me you'd better do exactly what Mr Durham here says – we wouldn't want any messy accidents getting in the way of that reunion, now would we?"

"We need to get going, Lex," said Durham, glancing at his watch. "Black Manta wants him delivered by tonight, and we've got an eight hour drive ahead of us."

"Of course – we won't hold you up any longer," said Lex, turning towards AC. He stared at his captive for a few seconds, as if he were committing to memory this last moment of triumph. His hatred of AC was second only to his loathing of Oliver, and part of him regretted his decision to hand over the pleasure of killing him to someone else. However, what he knew of Black Manta convinced him that it was the right thing to do. Even by his own twisted standards the man was a sadist, and what Durham had told him of his plans made it clear that the lord of the oceans would suffer terribly before he died. AC would endure a living hell at the hands of his old enemy, just as he intended to inflict untold pain on Oliver.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, Curry," he said playfully, a broad smile on his face. "It's been – how would you surfers put it? – _real, _but all good things must come to an end, mustn't they? Give my regards to your friend Black Manta – from what I hear he's got something special planned for when the two of you meet up. Oh, and don't you worry about Oliver – I'll be taking very good care of him, I promise."

AC glared at Lex, his eyes filled with anger and frustration. Durham's men then grabbed him by the arms and dragged him towards the truck. Lex watched as they bundled him inside, shoving him into the cage.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Lex," said Durham, relieved that at last they were about to be on their way. The two men shook hands, before Durham turned and clambered into the back of the truck, slamming the doors behind him. The engine started up, and seconds later the truck began to make its way out into the late morning air.

Lex watched as the truck made its way towards the main exit from the compound. "One down, one to go," he said lightly, turning towards Santos. "Is everything ready?"

"My men are fetching the kid now," replied the other man. "We should be ready to go in thirty minutes."

"And Miss Sullivan?"

"Eager to get started, sir."

Lex grinned. "You know something, Santos? I have a feeling that today's going to be a good day – a very good day indeed!"

* * *

><p>Durham sat in the back of the truck, trying to ignore the dull ache that was developing in the small of his back. They were only fifteen minutes into the journey, but already he was regretting his decision to allow his men to ride up front. His seat was uncomfortable, and the position of the cage meant that he had no room to stretch out his legs. He'd wanted to watch over his prisoner personally; Curry had slipped through the net too many times before, and he hadn't been in a mood to take any chances. Now, however, all he could think of was the pain in his back, and the fact that the next scheduled stop was still over three hours away.<p>

He glanced into the cage. AC stared back him, his eyes blazing. Despite the fact that he was chained up and helpless, Durham felt a pang of unease. They'd taken every precaution necessary to ensure the safe delivery of their captive, but there was something about the way the young hero watched him, as if he was biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to strike….

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he growled.

AC didn't move. The muzzle had been removed, another decision that Durham was beginning to regret. The young hero continued to stare back at him, his dumb insolence a calculated challenge to his captor.

"I said, what the fuck are you looking at?" repeated Durham, kicking at the bars of the cage; if AC was trying to unnerve him, it was working.

"What, do you want some of this?" he asked, pulling Lex's controller from his pocket. "Don't forget I've got Luthor's zapper, freak, so if you don't want this to be the journey from hell….."

He was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Frowning, he pulled his cell from his jacket pocket.

"Sir!" he said, pulling himself up straight; it was obvious he wasn't expecting a call from his boss. "Yes sir, everything is going according to plan. We left Luthor's about fifteen minutes ago…. Yes, in fact I'm looking at him now…. Yes, yes, he is wearing the collar…."

Suddenly there was a screech of breaks. Durham was flung forwards against the bars of the cage, the cell falling from his hand. The vehicle spun alarmingly, before flipping over onto its side. Unable to stop himself, Durham was sent tumbling through the air, until he came crashing down onto what moments earlier had been the wall of the truck, but which was now its floor. Dazed, for a few seconds he didn't move. Then, gathering his wits, he pulled his gun from his jacket. Instinctively he knew that whatever had happened, this was no accident:

They were under attack.

He looked to his right. Much to his relief, the cage was intact, AC lying still on his side. Pulling himself to his feet, he stopped, his ears straining for any clue as to what was going on outside. There was nothing, save for the sound of his own heart pumping furiously in his chest. The seconds passed. What was happening? If they were under attack, shouldn't he have heard something by now? And what had happened to the guys up front? The questions kept coming, but still he had no answers….

Voices – he could hear voices. Was that Rogers? It sounded like him, but he couldn't be sure…..

"Rogers, is that you?" he shouted. "What's happening? What's going….?"

His words were cut short by the sound of something heavy hitting the side of the truck. He flinched, his hand grasping the gun tighter; what the hell was happening?

"Who's out there?" he demanded, trying to hide the fear he felt inside. "I'm warning you…."

One of the truck doors swung open. Wide eyed, Durham swung round and pointed his gun towards the opening, his finger already beginning to squeeze the trigger…

"Who's there?" he shouted. "Answer me or I'll shoot!"

Something moved behind the door which remained closed. Durham didn't hesitate. He fired, a dozen rounds peppering the door with bullet holes. As the sound of the gunshots faded he again listened intently, trying to work out what was happening just a few feet from where he stood. There was nothing, save for the sound of his own labored breathing. Again the seconds passed. Finally, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, he cautiously advanced towards the open door, his heart beating ever faster in his chest. Pausing to check his weapon was ready to fire, he took a deep breath, and then leapt out into the open air beyond….

Clearing the van he flung himself to the ground, rolling several times across the grass so as to present as difficult a target as possible to his as yet unseen attacker. Coming to a stop he got into a crouching position, his eyes everywhere as he scanned his surroundings for any sign of danger. Immediately he saw the bodies of his two men, lying unmoving a few feet from the overturned truck. It wasn't clear whether they'd been attacked or thrown clear as they'd crashed, but instinctively Durham knew it was the former. For a few agonising seconds he felt exposed, vulnerable; he was all too aware that a skilled marksman could take him out in a blink of an eye and they'd be nothing he could do about it. Then, as time passed and nothing happened, his fears began to subside. Maybe his attacker had fled – maybe his bullets had found their target after all. Slowly, he stood up. He remained watchful, alert to every movement, but as he began to make his way back towards the truck he felt his confidence levels returning. It had been a close run thing, but he'd survived, and he still had his prisoner. Now all he needed to do was call for some back up – Luthor could have his men here in minutes.

"Hey, fuck-wit – you looking for me?"

Durham's eyes shot upwards. There, standing on top of the overturned truck, stood a man. No more than twenty years of age, he was dressed in a pair of red pants and a red hoodie, embroidered with flashes of yellow piping…..

Durham didn't hesitate, immediately firing half a dozen shots in the direction of his attacker. The man disappeared. For a split second he thought he'd hit him, but almost as soon as he'd stopped shooting he knew that something was wrong. There was no body, no sound of the man falling to the ground….

"Dude, you gotta do better than that."

Durham span round. The man was standing immediately behind him, grinning broadly. He didn't have time to react, a well-placed kick to the gut sending him crashing to the ground. The gun fell from his hand. He reached out to grab it, but the man kicked it away. Durham looked up, wide-eyed and terrified as his attacker towered over him.

"Who are you?" he gasped. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" asked the man. "I want my friend back, fucker."

Durham opened his mouth to speak, but a swift punch to the head knocked him unconscious.

Confident that Durham was out for the count, Bart ran over to the truck and clambered inside.

"AC? Dude, are you okay?" he said anxiously, staring at the unmoving figure lying inside the cage and suddenly fearing that he might be too late. "It's me, Bart. It's gonna be okay, bro – I'm gonna get you out of here."

AC turned. "Bart?" he asked, not quite believing what was happening. "Man, is that really you?"

Bart grinned. "In the flesh, dude," he said, relieved to see his friend was okay. "Didn't think I'd let them turn you into fish food for Black Manta, did you?"

"What's happening? Is Oliver okay?"

"Lex still has him – Roy and Emil too," replied Bart, working on the lock to the cage.

"Roy and Emil? How….?"

"I handed them over to Lex."

"You handed them over to Lex? Bro, are you crazy? What the hell…..?"

"I had to – it was the only way I could gain Lex's trust," said Bart, breaking the lock and pulling the door to the cage open. He looked at AC, suddenly aware of the distrust and uncertainty in the other man's eyes. "Dude, believe me - I've got a plan to get them all out of there, but I can't do it without your help. You've gotta trust me, bro – can you do that?"

AC stared at Bart. Reason told him this might be a trap; another of Lex's twisted games, with Bart his willing pawn. Bart's eyes, however, told a different story. They were not the eyes of the drug fuelled sadist who'd done so much damage as Lex's accomplice. Instead they were the eyes of the teenager he'd fought alongside on countless missions, the kid whose wicked sense of humour and endless stream of fish jokes had so often driven him to distraction. He knew in his heart that this was the old Bart, the Bart he'd gladly give his life for – the Bart he could trust.

"Trust me, bro – please," repeated Bart.

AC smiled. "Always," he said simply.

Seconds later and AC was free, both men clambering from the truck.

"So what's this plan of yours?" asked AC, stretching muscles that ached after days spent shackled in captivity. "It had better be good, bro – that place is swarming with Luthor's apes."

"Relax – I got it all worked out," replied Bart. "For the last twenty-four hours I've had the run of the place, and….."

Suddenly there was a loud click. Bart looked at AC, and saw a red light flashing on the collar around his neck.

"Dude, what is that?" he asked.

"You've got sixty seconds, Curry – sixty seconds before you die!"

Both men turned. Durham had regained consciousness, and was now staring up at them from the ground, a triumphant glint in his eye. In his right hand he held what looked like some sort of remote control device, a device he was pointing straight at AC.

The colour drained from AC's face. "The collar – he's activated the collar!"

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's a bomb, Bart," replied AC grimly. "And if I'm right, in less than a minute it's gonna blow me and this whole area into a thousand pieces!"

* * *

><p>A new chapter - yay! Sorry it has taken so long to update - as always, real life keeps getting in the way of what's <em>really <em>important. Anyway, I know that some of you wanted some good news after all the angst, and here it is - Bart's back on the team! Having double-crossed (or is that triple-crossed?) Lex, we're all set up for a rescue mission - once the small matter of that explosive collar around AC's neck is dealt with, of course. They are going to have to move fast, however, as when you see what Lex has in store for Ollie and Roy...

Don't worry, angst lovers - plenty more Ollie whump, adventure and danger to come. I will try to post a new chapter in the next week or so, but in the meantime thanks so much for reading, and an extra special thank you to all my amazing reviewers. Please do post some feedback if you can - your encouragement means so, so much!


	30. Chapter 30: Plans Revealed

**Chapter Thirty: Plans Revealed**

"It's a bomb, bro."

For a moment Bart didn't react. He'd planned AC's rescue down to the smallest detail, but nowhere had he factored in the possibility of an explosive collar with the power to blow his friend's head off. It was crazy, but then everything about the last few months had been crazy. The two men stared at each other. They had to do something – and do it fast.

_Focus, Bart – focus!_

He reached out towards the collar, but immediately AC stepped back.

"It's booby-trapped, dude," he said, his features fixed in a look of grim resolution. "Touch it and we both die."

Bart turned towards Durham, who still lay on the ground a few feet away.

"How do I turn it off?" he demanded.

Durham smiled. "You don't, kid," he said, half choking on some blood from a cut lip. "Dolphin boy's dead – nothing you can do to stop it."

"You're lying!" shouted Bart, advancing on Durham and grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket. "Tell me how to disarm it, or I'll….."

"What? Kill me?" sneered Durham. "You haven't got it in you, freak."

Aware that he was running out of time, Bart didn't hesitate. He picked up Durham's gun from the ground and took aim at the other man, his finger poised over the trigger….

"Tell me how to disarm it," he demanded. "Tell me now, or I _will_ shoot you."

Durham said nothing. He could see the look in Bart's eyes, sense the young hero's unshakable resolve….

A shot. Durham screamed in pain, clasping his knee as blood spurted everywhere.

"Next one will be to the head," said Bart coolly. "Now tell me how to disarm it, or die – your choice, fucker."

"Alright, alright!" whimpered Durham, his agony all too obvious. "There's a code – 459661 – enter it into the box on the side of the collar…"

Bart turned, to find AC already by his side. He fumbled at the box, but eventually got it open.

"Can you do it?" asked AC.

"Hold still," replied Bart, staring at a screen that was counting down the seconds.

_8…7….6…._

"Fuck!" he shouted, his hands shaking so much he entered the sequence of numbers incorrectly.

"No pressure, bro," quipped AC nervously; he couldn't see the countdown, but knew that time was running out…

_3…2….. _

The countdown stopped, the display frozen at 1. Bart heaved a huge sigh of relief. He'd done it; the bomb was disarmed.

AC reached up and pulled the collar from his neck. He looked at the display and whistled, only now realising how close they'd come to disaster.

"Thanks, dude," he said gratefully, smiling at his friend. "I owe you one."

"Hey, don't sweat it," replied Bart, trying to sound as if he'd had everything under control from the outset. "Just don't get your scaly ass caught again, yeah?"

"So long as you don't let yourself get brainwashed by any psycho criminal masterminds," said AC, his smile broadening into a grin. The relief on the two men's faces was clear; after all they'd been through, it felt good to be reunited once more.

"So tell me about this rescue plan," he continued. "Cos it's gonna need to be good, dude – Lex has got that place sewn up so tight a cockroach can't move in there without a pack of goons swooping in all guns blazing."

Now it was Bart's turn to grin. "Hey, remember that while you were keeping Lex busy I had the run of that place. I know it like the back of my hand – and I've planted a few surprises of my own to keep Lex's men busy while we go in and get Ollie."

"And Clark? What about Clark?"

"Like I said, I got it all planned. Now are we going to stand here talking, or are we going to go and save the big guy?"

"Dozens of guards, state of the art security systems, and a Kryptonian who can whip my ass without breaking a sweat? Bro, those are my kind of odds!"

* * *

><p>"Save your strength, Mr Harper – I'm afraid you are going to need it."<p>

Lex's words fell on deaf ears as Roy continued to struggle furiously against the men who now sought to shackle him to the heavy chains which hung from the ceiling of the cell. Moments earlier they had dragged the teenager into the room and forced him to strip to the waist. He had been relatively cooperative then, but the arrival of Lex had changed all that. Perhaps it was the appearance of his captor, or maybe the long cattle prod attached by wires to a power source on the far wall – whatever it was, it was clear that Roy Harper sensed what was to come. He pulled and kicked at the men who now tried to subdue him, thrashing about in a frenzied attempt to fend off the inevitable. Eventually, however, he began to tire. A blow to the head left him momentarily stunned, but it was enough; seconds later and he was being lifted off the ground by the chains that were now securely attached to his wrists, coming to rest about two feet off the floor. Still he continued to struggle, pulling against his bonds and testing them for any sign of weakness.

"_A fighter,"_ thought Lex to himself, smiling as he watched the young hero refuse to accept defeat. _"That should make this even more enjoyable than I'd thought."_

It was only relatively recently that Lex had come to appreciate the importance of the young man who now hung helplessly in the centre of the room. The special bond that united Oliver and AC was well known to him, and he'd long planned to use Curry's "death" as a way of hurting his captive. For weeks he'd thought of little else, moulding and refining the original germ of an idea into the spectacular that he'd presided over just twenty-four hours earlier. Harper, however, was something different. He had not been part of Oliver's original gang of freaks, and it was only through speaking to Chloe that he had begun to realise how much the kid meant to him. Now, however, he understood. Oliver was always on the lookout for new recruits, impressionable young men who would be dazzled by his wealth and his promises. Curry, Stone, Allen - Roy Harper was just the latest in a long line of misfits to fall under the spell of Oliver Queen and his so-called "Justice League." The two had met at Nemesis, an irony not lost on Lex. He had been the one who had thrown them together, forged their friendship in the hell of a shared captivity. Now he would destroy that friendship, just as he had destroyed everything else that Oliver cared about. He would kill Roy Harper - slowly, painfully, so that the boy suffered an agonising, protracted death. And Oliver would see it all, be forced to watch helplessly as his latest protégé endured hour after hour of the most excruciating torture imaginable. The boy's screams would tear apart his very soul, their cruelty made all the more unbearable by the identity of the woman who would be the cause of all that pain…..

"_How will you bear it, Oliver?" _thought Lex._ "How will you bear the sight of the woman you love killing this boy?"_

That was all in the future. His pulse quickening in expectation of what was to come, Lex stepped forward.

"I'm sorry it's come to this, Mr Harper," he purred, looking up into a pair of bright blue eyes that blazed defiantly back at him. "You seem like a good kid, and brave too. Such a shame you didn't take more care over your choice of friends."

"What is this?" demanded Roy, his anger only half masking the fear he felt inside. "What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to torture you, Mr Harper," replied Lex calmly. "I'm going to torture you, and then I'm going to kill you."

The colour drained from Roy's face. It wasn't just the certainty of Lex's words that terrified him, but the cool, almost matter-of-fact way in which he'd said them. Roy could see that for Lex killing him would mean nothing; his life was worthless, simply a card to be played in his elaborate game of revenge against Oliver.

"You don't scare me, Luthor," he said, trying to appear unafraid. He wanted to be strong, to deny his captor the satisfaction of glimpsing the terror he felt inside, but even as he spoke he knew that his eyes had betrayed him.

Lex smiled. "Oh, I think I do," he said darkly, taking a step forwards. "You see words are easy, Roy – words can make anyone sound like a hero. Deeds are what matter, and you and I both know that when that prod sends a hundred thousand volts coursing through your body you'll break, just as certainly as night follows day. You'll scream, you'll beg – who knows, maybe you'll even soil those leather pants that Oliver gave you. Tell me, does the costume make you feel like a hero? Does it make you feel like one of the guys? Well this is what being one of the guys _really _means, Roy – it means pain, pain like nothing you've ever experienced before."

As Lex stopped speaking silence filled the room for a few moments, the dreadful meaning of his words hanging ominously in the air. Roy wanted to speak, but no words would come; struck dumb by the horror of what was to come, all he could do was stare helplessly into the cold, vicious eyes of the man who very soon would kill him.

"Mr Luthor, Queen's here."

Lex turned, to find Santos standing in the doorway.

"So our guest of honour has arrived," he said gleefully. "Bring him in, Santos – time he joined the party!"

Santos stepped out of the cell, only to return almost immediately. Behind him, his neck in a collar attached to a thick steel chain, came Oliver, Santos dragging him forward like a dog on a lead. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, so he could not protect himself as Santos grabbed him and pushed him to the floor. He landed heavily on his knees, yelping in pain at this latest act of casual brutality.

"Oliver!" exclaimed Lex, to all the world sounding as if he were greeting a long lost friend. "I hope Mr Santos here has been looking after you – I know how important it is for you to get your beauty sleep."

Oliver said nothing. Instead he looked up at Roy, the two men exchanging glances that said more in a split second than a thousand words could ever do. Both knew what was to come; both knew there was no escape from whatever twisted game Lex had in store for them.

"I've been getting to know your newest recruit here," continued Lex, looking up at Roy. "I have to say, Oliver, I can see why you picked him. The boyish good looks, the reckless disregard for his own safety, the conspicuous lack of anything resembling a brain – I can't imagine a more perfect fit for your little band of freaks."

"Don't do this, Lex," said Oliver quietly, ignoring Lex's attempts to provoke him. "Torture me if you like, but leave the kid alone – he's got nothing to do with this."

"Oh, spare me the self-sacrificing hero act, please!" said Lex, towering over his prisoner. "I've had enough of your sanctimonious moralising to last me a lifetime. This has _everything_ to do with him, Oliver. He means something to you, and that's why he has to die – just like AC had to die. You did this to him, Oliver – when you befriended him at Nemesis you might just as well have signed his death warrant."

"You're insane, Lex," whispered Oliver. "You're fucking insane!"

Lex's face darkened, Oliver's words getting under his skin. "Insane, am I?" he repeated, barely able to control his anger. "Well, we'll see about that. Santos, secure him."

Santos grabbed Oliver and dragged him over to the wall. Assisted by another of Lex's men he proceeded to untie Oliver, removing the cuffs and the collar around his neck. At first Oliver offered no resistance, but when the two men attempted to force his wrists into the steel shackles that hung from the wall he began to struggle violently. Santos was in no mood for games, and a swift blow to the gut soon secured Oliver's cooperation.

"Leave him alone!" shouted Roy, forced to watch as Santos pinioned Oliver against the wall whilst the other man snapped the manacles in place.

Lex smiled. "The boy's loyal, I'll give you that," he said, his composure apparently restored. "You know it never ceases to amaze me how you inspire such devotion, Oliver. What is it, I wonder? Money? That famous Queen charm? Or maybe just plain stupidity?"

"It's called friendship, Lex," gasped Oliver, staring angrily at his captor as if he were daring him to do his worst. "Something a murderous fuck like you would never understand!"

"Shut your mouth, boy!" shouted Santos, backhanding Oliver across the face and causing blood to spray from his mouth. "Show some respect, you fucking piece of shit!"

"Oliver, I'm surprised at you!" said Lex, adopting a tone of feigned disapproval. "Language like that, in front of the boy? Shame on you. Santos, I think we've heard enough from our friend there for the time being – gag him."

Santos grabbed some rag from the table and tried to stuff it into Oliver's mouth. He resisted, turning his head away and clamping his lips tightly shut. It was a futile show of resistance, Santos simply grabbing his head and smashing it hard against the wall. Oliver gasped in pain, only to have his cry muffled by the rag as Santos forced it roughly into his mouth. Seconds later and a strip of duct tape was plastered across his lips. Oliver was silenced – for now at least.

As Oliver was being gagged Lex had moved over to the table and the long metal prod attached by a number of wires to an electrical box mounted on the wall. He picked up the device, holding it up to the light and making a play of studying it. He was aware that all eyes were now on him, that his two prisoners were waiting, watching…

The stage was set – it was time to introduce the star of the show.

"I know how much your boys mean to you, Oliver," he began smoothly, turning to face his captive. "That's why I want to make their deaths memorable for you - _special_, if you like. Take Clark killing AC in my arena – what could be more special than one of your closest friends murdering the man you'd come to think of as a brother? And as for Roy here – well, this time I think I've surpassed myself."

Both Oliver and Roy stared at Lex, not yet understanding. Then their eyes were drawn towards the doorway, and the familiar figure standing there, clad in a LuthorCorp uniform ….

"Chloe!" exclaimed Lex. "We've been waiting for you!"

Ignoring Oliver, Chloe entered the room and walked over to where Lex stood. She appeared cold, business-like, as if the pain she was about to inflict on her former friends was nothing more than another assignment to be completed in the most efficient manner possible. Lex handed her the prod, before turning towards his stricken captive.

"Yes, Oliver, it's Chloe who's going to torture your boy," he said, a reptilian smile forming on his lips. "Call it her rite of passage, if you will – the moment when her induction into LuthorCorp will be complete. It's perfect, don't you think? The beloved fiancé kills the handsome young sidekick – what on earth could be better than that?"

Stunned by what he'd heard, for a moment Oliver didn't move. Even by Lex's twisted standards, what he had planned was too monstrous for words. Chloe, _a killer?_ He couldn't believe it – no, he _wouldn't_ believe it…

Inside, something snapped. Letting out a strangled cry which was only partly silenced by his gag, he began to pull furiously at his bonds. He twisted this way and that, straining to free himself so that he could do something – _anything_ – to stop this madness. It was a frenzied display, so raw and intense even Santos was unnerved by it. He took a step back, unsure how to react as his captive kicked and thrashed about like a wild animal caught in a trap. Lex, however, only laughed. Oliver's rage was a sign that he'd won, and as his laughter echoed off the walls of the cell and mixed with the muffled cries of his defeated enemy both men knew it.

"Look at your hero now, boy," he exclaimed, glancing up at Roy. "He promised you the world, and now look at him!"

"Screw you, Luthor!" shouted Roy. "You'll pay for this, you sick son-of-a-bitch!"

"Ohh, bravo!" replied Lex. "You really are the perfect sidekick, aren't you? Well, you know what happens to sidekicks, don't you, boy?"

Roy said nothing, aware of Chloe moving somewhere close behind him…..

"They die!"

Chloe thrust the prod into Roy's back, sending fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing through his body.

Lex smiled.

The next chapter in the agony of Oliver Queen had begun.

* * *

><p>AC and Bart to the rescue, but will they get there in time? As you can probably sense, lots of action and drama to come in the next few chapters. Lovers of angst shouldn't worry, however - in my fics rescues never go exactly according to plan, and I haven't forgotten my promise to kill someone off before this fic is finished. You have been warned!<p>

Hope you enjoyed this one. I've started on the next chapter, so that should be out in the next couple of weeks. Thanks for your continuing support, and for being so patient in waiting for updates. Please, please do post a review if you can - your encouragement matters so much, and it's hard to keep going without feedback.


	31. Chapter 31: Evening up the Odds

**Chapter Thirty-One: Evening up the odds**

_Meet me in Room 897a – I've a surprise for you!_

Clark smiled as he glanced again at Chloe's message on his cell. He had just turned down the long corridor which led to the room that she'd chosen for their latest rendezvous, and it was all he could do not to super-speed to the door. He wasn't sure what she had in store for him, but after the night they'd spent together he had a pretty good idea. They'd made love half a dozen times, their desire for each other apparently insatiable. It was as if they were trying to make up for lost time, all those years they'd spent together never once expressing their true feelings finally well and truly a thing of the past. Looking back, he couldn't quite believe how he'd survived in Smallville for so long, living in the shadows and in constant fear that someone would discover the truth. He was a god, so why had the Kents forced him to hide? He had nothing to be ashamed of, and yet they had compelled him to live his life as a nobody, a nothing. They had lied to him, told him to deny who he really was, but no longer – now he saw the truth. Lex had liberated him, helped him to see what he could really be. In his mind Clark Kent was dead – he was Kal-El now, and he would hide away no longer. He would fulfil his destiny, use his abilities to take what he wanted from a world that would learn to tremble at the mere mention of his name.

That was all in the future. For now he was content to work with Lex and help him to destroy Oliver and his so-called "Justice League." Again, it seemed incredible to him that he hadn't realised the truth about Oliver sooner. He'd allowed himself to be duped by that jumped up little rich boy, even been prepared to take orders from him. How could he have been so blind? How could he have allowed himself to be taken in by all that moralising shit Oliver spouted about their "mission," about how they were fighting for justice? He could see it all clearly now, of course. Oliver's mission had nothing to do with justice – it was all about feeding a billionaire's ego and satisfying his thirst for glory and fame. He had no powers, no abilities of his own. What he did have was an inexhaustible supply of money, and he'd used that wealth to gather about him a team that could help him live out his fantasies. He'd even managed to seduce Chloe, stealing her away from him until she too had learnt the truth. Now, finally, he and his friends were getting a taste of true justice, and Clark couldn't have been happier. Lex was making Oliver suffer, and he was more than willing to play his part in making him pay for his lies and deceit. "Killing" Aquaman in the arena had given him a particular buzz; the self-styled lord of the oceans had thought himself invulnerable, but he had broken him as if he were nothing more than a pile of matchsticks. Lex had promised that soon he would get to take a crack at Oliver himself. Not to kill him, of course - just hurt him, make him scream a little. It was a prospect he was looking forward to – although not quite as much as he was looking forward to seeing what Chloe had in store for him in Room 897a.

Arriving at his destination, he glanced over his over his shoulder to check he wasn't being observed. Taking a deep breath, he then opened the door and stepped inside.

The room was dark. Clark smiled – was this part of the surprise? He took a couple of steps forward, using his x-ray vision to scour the room. Almost immediately he identified a figure about ten yards directly in front of him. It wasn't, however, the person he was expecting…

Suddenly the lights came on, and Clark found himself staring straight at Bart Allen.

"Clark!" he exclaimed, grinning broadly. "How's it going, dude!"

"Bart!" stammered Clark, obviously caught by surprise by his former teammate's appearance. "I was….I mean….."

"What is it, bro? Were you expecting someone else?"

Despite himself, Clark blushed. "No…. no, it's just…"

"Relax, Clark – I'm just yanking your chain," said Bart. "Chloe can't make it, dude – sorry, but I guess you'll have to wait a little longer to screw Ollie's girl."

"What the hell do you mean by that?" replied Clark, suddenly angry. He knew that Bart was working for Lex now, but he was damned if he was going to let some punk kid talk to him like this.

"Taking another guy's girl – that is _so_ not cool," continued Bart, apparently oblivious to the other man's obvious irritation. "You should be ashamed of yourself, Clark – and to think, we all used to look up to you, thought you were Mr Perfect."

"Shut your mouth, boy!" hissed Clark, beginning to advance on Bart. Confused as to why the teenager was trying to provoke him, he was nonetheless determined to teach him a lesson. He reached out and grabbed Bart by the neck, hauling him off the ground and balling his right hand into a fist….

"Whoah, dude!" spluttered Bart. "We're friends, yeah? Look – another one of the gang's here too!"

"Hello, Clark."

Clark spun round. Filling the doorway that moments earlier he'd walked through stood AC, resplendent in the green and orange costume of his alter ego.

"What the hell?" said Clark, stunned by the other man's appearance. "I thought you were….."

"On my way to Black Manta?" interrupted AC, his voice sounding confident and assured. "Sorry to disappoint you, bro, but that didn't work out. Besides, there's enough work for me here. You know, the usual shit - defeat the evil villain, save my friends, kick your Kryptonian ass."

Clark laughed loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. "Defeat me?" he asked incredulously. "What – like you did the last time?"

Tossing Bart aside, he squared up to his adversary, the two men never once taking their eyes off each other. Clark had no idea what was happening, but already he sensed an opportunity. In the arena he had been forced to fight according to Lex's rules, but now there would be no holding back. Not for a second did he suspect a trap. After all, he was Kal- El – what did he have to be afraid of?

"I don't know how you escaped, AC, but I have to tell you – coming back here was a mistake," he warned darkly. "There's no Lex to stop me this time – and now I will kill you."

AC's jaw tightened. "Bring it on!" he said quietly, his muscles tense and ready for combat…..

Slowly, Clark advanced on AC. Almost immediately, he sensed something was wrong. His limbs felt heavy, and his vision began to blur. He took a few steps, but then stopped. Waves of nausea swept over him, and his muscles felt like lead; he could barely move, let alone fight.

_A trap – this is a trap!_

Too late, Clark realised what was happening. He turned, to find Bart at his side. In one hand he held a lump of kryptonite, its familiar green glow a warning of its devastating power; in the other was the small lead box in which he had kept it hidden. Clark held out his hand in an attempt to shield himself, but to no avail. Wide-eyed and suddenly fearful, he stared at the teenager, as if to implore him to stop. Bart didn't flinch, but instead moved closer. Clark fell to his knees; unable to speak, he rolled over onto the floor, crippled and powerless.

Ten seconds. That was all it had taken – ten seconds, and Clark was theirs.

"Sorry, Clark, but we had no choice," said Bart, standing over his stricken former friend. AC joined him, the two grim-faced as they looked down at Clark. They knew how devastating Kryptonite could be, and it gave them no pleasure to see their teammate in such pain. They consoled themselves with the knowledge that within hours they'd have the old Clark back, just as soon as they could get him to Emil and his antidote.

"You're sure it won't kill him?" asked AC.

"I'm sure," said Bart. "Lex's geeks have been testing this stuff for months, working out just how much you need to control him. I guess Luthor wanted to have a little insurance policy just in case his pet alien went rogue."

"I'll kill you for this!" gasped Clark, his blood-shot eyes filled with hate. "You'll never get out….."

He didn't get to finish his sentence, AC's fist knocking him unconscious.

"Lock him in that container," said Bart, nodding towards a large steel storage unit off to the left. "We'll come back for him when we've got Ollie."

AC grabbed Clark under the arms and began to drag him across the floor. Bart followed, the lump of meteor rock still clasped firmly in his hand. Clark had posed a real threat to their rescue mission, and he felt relieved that he'd been taken out of the picture. The fact that they'd taken him down so easily made him feel upbeat about the next stage of the plan; it might have been irrational, but at last he felt as if the luck was on their side.

AC hauled Clark into the container and set about binding his hands and feet. That done, Bart placed the kryptonite on the floor beside him. The two of them then pushed the door to the container shut, AC securing it with a large padlock.

"So I guess it's time for stage two," said AC, turning to his friend.

"You ready?"

"Hey, relax," replied AC, sensing the tension in the teenager's voice. "Diversions are my specialty, remember?"

Bart smiled. "Stay safe, yeah?"

"Always," grinned AC. "Now get your ass out of here and don't come back without the big guy, okay?"

For a split second Bart hesitated, the two men staring at each other and both all too aware of the dangers that lay ahead. Their plan was risky to the point of recklessness. They knew that in the next hour one or both of them might end up dead, but they were committed now – there was no turning back. Besides, Oliver needed them – whatever the dangers, they had to try.

Bart didn't say another word – he didn't need to. He nodded his head, turned, and then was gone.

"Good luck, kid," said AC, looking at the empty doorway through which Bart had just left.

He looked at his watch.

17:07.

Eight minutes. Eight minutes – and then all hell would break loose.

* * *

><p>Forty minutes had passed since Chloe had first thrust the electric prod against Roy's bare back, sending tens of thousands of volts coursing through his defenceless frame. For Oliver, they had been the longest forty minutes of his life. He'd been tortured many times, endured all types of physical punishment, but nothing compared to the hell of watching a friend suffer and being powerless to stop it. Lex knew that, of course – a master of cruelty, he knew exactly what he was doing when he set up this latest entry in his lexicon of sadism. Everything had been planned, even down to the smallest detail. The shocks that Roy was being forced to suffer were excruciating, but not so powerful that he lost consciousness. That would spoil the game, rob Lex of the thrill of watching both men's torment. At the start Roy had tried to be brave, swallowing his agony so as to deny his captors the satisfaction of hearing his pain. Soon, however, his strength had faded, his resolve eaten away by shock after shock and the knowledge that there was no hope of rescue. Now his screams rent the air, each one greeted with shouts of delight from the men who had gathered to watch another of the Justice League meet his end. Oliver had tried to block out Roy's cries, close his eyes to the nightmare that surrounded him, but Lex would not let him. Every time he turned away or shut his eyes the voltage was increased, so that to protect his friend Oliver had no choice but to watch the hell to which he was being subjected. Worst of all, of course, was the identity of Roy's tormentor. Chloe seemed to revel in her role as torturer in chief, wielding the prod as if she had been doing it all her life. Not once did she hesitate before thrusting it against his defenceless body, her eyes sparkling with glee as the teenager sobbed and begged for her to stop. His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears – if anything, she seemed to get a kick out of seeing him suffer. Dante himself could not have conjured up a vision of hell as terrible as this, and presiding over it all stood Lex, silent and ever watchful. The master choreographer of cruelty, he appeared content to stand back and allow Chloe to take the leading role. For him it was enough to savour Oliver's suffering, enjoy his agony as yet another of his friends endured the unendurable.<p>

The door opened. One of Lex's men entered, a worried look on his face.

"Mr Luthor….."

"Yes?" replied Lex, obviously irritated by this unexpected interruption.

"Sir, we have a security breach in Sector Eight."

"So?" said Lex, his annoyance growing. "Deal with it – it's what I pay you for, isn't it?"

"Sir, you might want to look at this."

The man passed Lex an Ipad. On it, hidden from Oliver and Roy, was an image of AC running down a corridor, waving and grinning up at the camera that had taken the picture.

"Is this some sort of joke?" asked Lex, his anger suddenly turning to concern.

"No joke, sir," replied the guard. "The picture was taken by a security camera in Sector Eight about five minutes ago."

For a moment Lex said nothing. Curry had escaped – that much was clear. Inwardly he cursed his decision to hand the young hero over to Black Manta's men. He should never have trusted Durham – the man was obviously incompetent, and now he had a member of the Justice League running free inside his most secure facility. How the hell had he got back in? Not that it mattered, of course – what mattered now was catching him before he did any serious damage.

"Santos, issue a Level Five security alert," he ordered, taking command of the situation. "I want every available man armed and on the lookout for this - _intruder._" He chose the word carefully, not wishing to alert Oliver or Roy to the truth about what was happening. "Do we know where he is now?"

"Yes sir – we're tracking him."

"Good. Send units four and seven to intercept – tell them I want him alive. Santos – with me."

Lex began to make for the door. He then paused, looking across to where his captive stood bound and gagged against the wall.

"I'm afraid we are going to have to put the boy's death on hold for a while, Oliver," he said smoothly, trying to give the impression that nothing was seriously amiss. "A minor local difficulty – nothing to worry about. Chloe will look after you while I'm gone – I'm sure she'll think of ways to keep you entertained._"_

He then swept out of the room, Santos and five of his men following on behind.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by Roy's labored breathing. Slowly Chloe walked across to where Oliver stood, her heels echoing off the highly polished floor. For what seemed like an eternity she said nothing, but simply stared at him, her mouth twisted into a malevolent smile. She then held out the prod towards him, tens of thousands of volts crackling alarmingly just inches from his face.

"Looks like it's sidekick's lucky day," she smirked. "Now how will we pass the time until Lex gets back, I wonder?"

* * *

><p>AC and Bart to the rescue - but will they get there in time? As you can see, we're moving towards the climax of the story, but there are still lots of twists and turns ahead - and not everyone is going to make it out alive... *evil laugh*<p>

Hope you enjoyed this one, and thanks as always to all my amazing reviewers. Please do post a review if you can, as your support is what really inspires me to keep writing.


	32. Chapter 32: A Love Corrupted

**Chapter 32: A Love Corrupted**

"_Now how will we pass the time until Lex gets back, I wonder?"_

Oliver's blood ran cold. There was something about the way Chloe was looking at him, like a serpent eying its prey, waiting to strike. He'd seen what she'd done to Roy, and now he knew it was his turn…..

"Did you like what I did to your boy, Oliver?" she whispered, edging closer so that her face was just inches from his. Again he could smell the familiar scent of her favourite perfume, the perfume he'd first bought her as a gift on their second date. He could still recall the way her face had lit up when he'd given it her, the joy he'd felt in seeing her so happy. Not even in his worst nightmares had he ever imagined that the love they'd shared all those months ago would end like this, the woman he'd fallen head over heels in love with transformed into a sadistic monster who seemed to glory in inflicting pain…..

"Did you like hearing him squeal like a pig?" she continued, her lips hovering just millimetres from his. "I did – but not half as much as I'm going to enjoy doing this."

Without warning she thrust the prod into his side, sending fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing through his defenceless frame. Caught off guard, Oliver had no time to steal himself for this latest assault. He threw back his head and screamed, his body twitching violently against the shackles that held him fast against the wall.

Chloe laughed. "That's right, Oliver – you scream," she jeered. "Scream all you want – no one's coming to save you this time, you fucking piece of shit!"

Oliver barely heard. The pain was unbearable, as if every nerve, every fibre of his being was on fire. But that wasn't the worst of it. Worst of all was seeing the look of pure delight in Chloe's eyes, the way she was revelling in his torment. There was no doubt there, no sense of uncertainty. Instead there was only cruelty, a cruelty that could be seen in her smile as she pressed the prod deeper into his flesh, a smile of pure evil….

Seconds passed, Chloe seemingly transfixed by her former lover's agony. She was in no hurry to end Oliver's suffering. Her mind warped by Lex's drugs, at that moment in time he was the enemy, a murderer who had deceived them all into joining his so-called crusade. For too long he'd held them all under his spell – Clark, Bart, even AC and Victor. But now she knew the truth, and she was going to make him pay – pay in a way that would shock even Lex….

At last she removed the prod. Oliver slumped forwards, only the chains that shackled him to the wall preventing him from falling to the floor. His chest heaved as he tried to force air into his tortured lungs. He didn't look up, but kept his eyes fixed firmly on the ground.

"What's the matter, Oliver?" asked Chloe, staring down at her stricken captive. "Don't tell me you've had enough – we're only just getting started!"

Oliver didn't respond. Haunted by the look on Chloe's face as she'd held the prod against his body, he could not bring himself to look up, to confront the woman who had broken his heart….

"Look at me, damnit!" hissed Chloe, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head upwards. She glared at him, her eyes filled with contempt and hatred.

"Did you think I wouldn't do it? Did you think I wouldn't hurt you?" she hissed, savouring the fear she could see in his eyes. "You arrogant fuck!"

She slapped him hard across the face, as if to punish him for his failure to answer. He couldn't, of course – the gag saw to that. But that didn't matter to Chloe. This was all about power – _her_ power. She didn't just want to hurt him physically; she wanted to humiliate him, rob him of his pride and self-respect. Already exhausted, Oliver had no reserves of strength with which to resist. Tears began to flow down his cheeks. His face crumpled, and then he began to sob.

Chloe grinned. Lex had been right. She was enjoying this – she was enjoying this a lot.

"What's this? Tears?" she sneered, peering at Oliver and getting right in his face. He turned away, trying to hide his shame, but she wouldn't let him; grabbing him by the chin, she pulled his face forwards, leering in triumph as he continued to weep uncontrollably.

"Look at this, Roy," she said loudly, never once taking her eyes from Oliver. "The mighty Green Arrow, crying like a baby! What do you think of your hero now, eh?"

"Leave him alone," said Roy, his voice weak from all the punishment he had endured. "If you want to torture someone, torture me, but please – stop hurting him!"

"Do you hear that, Oliver? The kid wants to sacrifice himself to save you," said Chloe, still staring deep into Oliver's bloodshot eyes. "That's true heroism, Oliver – something a worthless piece of shit like you will never understand."

She turned away, as if disgusted by the sight of him. Blinking back the tears, for a split second Oliver thought that she'd finished with him. Then he saw her pick up the knife from the table…

"I'm bored, Oliver – how about we mix things up a little?" she asked, toying with the knife. Her tone had suddenly changed; gone was the venom of moments earlier, to be replaced by something altogether more playful, more menacing. Calmly, she moved towards him. Terrified, he could only watch as she reached out and carefully unzipped his tunic. Then, without saying another word, she slipped the knife under the bottom of his t shirt. She held it still for a moment, allowing the edge of the blade to press against his stomach. His abdominal muscles tensed, his senses alert to the danger that was very close now. She could hear his laboured breathing, smell the fear that seemed to seep from every pore of his body. The two stared into each other's eyes, both knowing what was to happen next. Slowly, expertly, she pulled the knife upwards, cutting through the sweat soaked fabric that clung to his body. Seconds later and the t shirt fell away, to reveal Oliver's naked torso, glistening under the lights.

"Still as ripped as ever," said Chloe, greedily eying his sculpted muscles. "How many hours did it take to get back into shape, Oliver? Whatever it took, I bet it wasn't half what you spent posing in front of that full length mirror you love so much."

She pressed the tip of the knife against the base of his neck. Oliver flinched, and then watched, paralysed, as she eased the blade downwards, so that it traced the contours of his chest.

"So many hours spent trying to look beautiful," mused Chloe, her eyes following the line of the blade. "And all for what? So that you could impress me? I have Clark, Oliver – did you really think that a six pack and a pretty face could take me away from him?"

She paused, the knife resting just below his right nipple.

"I never loved you, Oliver," she said, leaning in close and whispering in his ear. "You were always just a quick fuck to me – nothing more, nothing less. And now I'm going to hurt you – hurt you like you've never been hurt before."

She kissed him, and at the same time sliced the knife deep into his flesh.

* * *

><p>"Freeze!"<p>

Four heavily armed guards cautiously approached AC, their guns aimed directly at his head. Seconds earlier they'd pursued him into the corridor in which they now stood. He'd already taken out a dozen of Lex's men, but now it seemed as if the young hero's luck had run out; the corridor was a dead end, and he literally had nowhere left to run. Turning to face his pursuers, AC grinned broadly as he raised his hands into the air.

"Okay guys, you win," he said, apparently unconcerned by the four guns that were pointing in his direction. He appeared supremely relaxed, as if he, not his would-be captors, was in control of the situation.

"Get on your knees and put your hands on your head," ordered one of the guards. Offering no resistance, AC did as he was told. Satisfied that their prisoner posed no immediate threat, the man in charge nodded to two of his colleagues. They rushed forwards, and moments later AC found his arms being forced behind his back and his wrists bound together. They then dragged him to his feet, holding him fast as they awaited further orders.

"Alpha Command, this is Team Blue," said the lead guard. "Target apprehended in Corridor 36, Sector 8. I repeat, target apprehended in Corridor 36, Sector 8."

"Target apprehended," repeated AC, as if he was confused by what he'd heard. He turned to one of the men who stood guard over him, looking at him quizzically. "Bro, what's this target he's talking about?"

"You, smart-ass," replied the guard.

"Me? No…No, dude, he can't mean me," said AC, shaking his head in disbelief. "Cos that would mean you guys had got me, and I wouldn't be able to do this."

Behind his back he pulled his wrists apart, snapping the cuffs like matchsticks. The guards barely had time to react before he grabbed the two who stood either side of him and lifted them into the air. There were shouts of panic, the other two levelling their weapons at AC once more. It was too late; he hurled the men at their teammates, sending all four crashing to the floor. Seconds later and each one lay unconscious at his feet, his fists bringing any final show of resistance to an abrupt end.

"That's enough!"

AC turned, to find Lex standing at the far end of the passage. Around a dozen men surrounded him, each armed to the hilt and with their weapons all trained in AC's direction.

"Lex, what took you so long?" he asked casually, grinning broadly. "Me and the guys here, we've just been catching up on old times."

"You shouldn't have come back here, Curry," replied Luthor, stony-faced; AC's return was an unwelcome distraction, and the young hero's carefree manner only added to his growing sense of irritation.

"And miss all the fun? Dude, you know me – I never pass up an opportunity to kick your ass," said AC. "Besides, that reunion you planned for me and Black Manta? Was never gonna happen, bro - the guy's just got too many anger issues. Hey, the two of you should get together some time! Two fucked up losers – it's a match made in heaven, bro!"

Lex smiled thinly. "A loser, am I? So what does this make you?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like some sort of cell phone. AC recognised it immediately – it was a duplicate of the device Lex had handed to Durham, the device that activated the chip that had been attached to his cerebral cortex…

Suddenly a bolt of pain shot down his spinal cord, before spreading through his entire body. Grimacing in agony, AC immediately fell to his knees, clutching his head as waves of excruciating pain pulsated through his brain. He'd gambled that Lex wouldn't have another of the controllers, or at least wouldn't have it on his person. It had always been a risk, but this time his luck really had run out.

"What is it the scouts say? Be prepared?" said Lex coolly, slowly walking towards AC. His thumb still pressed firmly to the device, he watched with satisfaction as the young hero writhed helplessly on the floor, powerless to protect himself from the tiny chip that now held him in its thrall.

"You never learn, do you?" he continued, coming to a halt in front of AC's stricken form. "You always were a dumb fuck, Curry – a stupid – dumb – FUCK!""

Lex accompanied his last three words with vicious kicks to AC's head. His anger sated, he then removed his thumb from the device. Two guards stepped forward and grabbed AC, dragging him to his feet.

"What did you think you were doing, coming back here?" asked Lex, staring at AC's bloodied and battered face. "Did you think you could save Oliver, is that it?"

AC just grinned. It wasn't the reaction that Lex was expecting; suddenly he felt a pang of uncertainty, as if something wasn't right….

"How did you escape from Durham?" he continued, his unease evident in the frown that was forming on his brow.

AC didn't say a word. Instead his smile widened, even as blood dribbled from his nose and mouth.

Lex nodded to Santos.

"Mr Luthor asked you a question, freak!" hissed the other man, stepping in front of AC. "Now answer him, damnit!"

He punched AC in the gut, the blow carrying such force that he doubled over in pain. Santos grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head upwards. Lex stepped forward, his need for answers growing more urgent by the second….

"How did you escape from Durham?" he repeated. "Tell me!"

AC laughed, blood spraying from his mouth as he did so. "You really wanna know?" he said. "I had help, Lex – that's how I escaped."

"Help? Who from?"

"From the guys, Luthor," said AC, smiling a smile of contented triumph. "_From the Justice League._"

Lex didn't need to ask any more; the look on AC's face told him all he needed to know. He'd been tricked – the only question now was was he too late to prevent catastrophe.

"Santos, call Miss Sullivan in the interrogation room," he ordered, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Miss Sullivan? But Sir….."

"Just do it!"

"Sir."

Santos tried to raise Chloe on his ComLink. Seconds passed, captor and captive staring at each other. AC was the prisoner, but it wasn't he who felt anxious, uneasy. Lex tried to remain calm, but already his mind was racing, trying to come to terms with the news that Santos was about to confirm…..

"No reply, sir."

"You're too late," said AC, exultant. "Oliver's gone, Luthor – you took the bait, just like we knew you would. Who's the dumb fuck now?"

Overcome with fury, Lex lashed out, backhanding AC across the face as he roared with anger.

"You're a loser, Lex," gasped AC, recovering from the blow. "Always were, always will be."

"Santos, order a Code Red – I want this base locked down so tight a cockroach couldn't get out," said Lex, fighting to regain his composure. "If Queen escapes I will hold you personally responsible, understand?"

"Sir!"

Santos hurried away, barking orders to his men as he did so.

"This isn't over, Curry," snarled Lex, glaring at his captive and furious that suddenly events were slipping out of his control. "You think you've won? Oliver's not getting out of here alive, I promise you. I will find him, do you hear? I will find him, and I will kill him!"

* * *

><p>Sorry for the delay in updating - as always, real life keeps getting in the way. I'm going to try to push this through to a conclusion in the next few chapters, as interest seems to be fading fast. The last chapter didn't get many reviews, which always makes me sad. Please do post a review if you can - your support means so much, and it helps a lot to know that you guys are still out there!<p>

Still lots of action and drama to come, I promise, although I am simplifying the end of the story so that we get there more quickly. In the next chapter we'll see what happens when Bart goes head to head with evil Chloe, and then there will be the small matter of making their escape - you just know it won't be simple, don't you?

Have you all seen Man of Steel? I know its got its critics, but I LOVED it! For me, Henry Cavill is the perfect Superman, and I so hope they do a sequel. Couldn't resist putting one or two references to the movie in this chapter - can you spot them?


	33. Chapter 33: The Loyalty of Friends

**Chapter 33: The loyalty of friends**

"_Do you still love me, Oliver? Do you still want me?"_

Breathlessly, Chloe continued to smoother Oliver with kisses, even as she sliced the knife deeper into his chest. Tears flowed freely down his face, mixing with the blood and sweat that stained his skin. They were tears of pain, certainly; the blade was sharp, his screams muffled by the gag. But they were also tears of despair, of utter hopelessness. Ever since he'd returned to Metropolis he'd dreamt of defeating Lex, of freeing his friends and being reunited with Chloe once more. It was a dream that had sustained him through the long weeks of recovery, and it was a dream that, whatever cold reason might have told him, he'd always believed would come true. He was the good guy, after all - the hero, destined to save the day and defeat the villain, just like in all the comic books he'd read as a kid. He couldn't lose – he just couldn't. And yet here he was, trapped in a nightmarish reality so horrific he could scarcely believe it. Lex had won, stolen from him everything he'd ever valued, ever loved. And now Chloe was torturing him, tormenting him like a cat toying with a mouse it was about to kill. At that moment he just wanted it to end, he wanted it to end so much that if his hands were free he would have seized the knife and plunged it straight into his own heart….

"Tell me you love me, Oliver," continued Chloe, pressing her body ever closer to his and licking the sweat from his neck and cheeks. "Because you do, don't you? You love me, even when I do this."

She twisted the knife, slicing deeper into his chest. Oliver bit down hard on the rag that had been stuffed into his mouth, desperate to stifle his scream.

"Yes, you love me," said Chloe, her mouth hovering just inches from his. "And that's why you're weak, Oliver. A weak little orphan boy, desperate for love."

Again she twisted the knife, grinning as Oliver's face contorted in agony.

"Awww, does it hurt?" she said, feigning concern. "Don't worry, Oliver – six or seven more cuts, and you'll be too fucked up to even care!"

She pulled the blade free, leaving a ten to twelve inch wound incised across his chest. Immediately blood began to ooze from it, mixing with his sweat and flowing downwards towards his stomach.

"Now, where next?" said Chloe, scanning Oliver's defenceless frame. "Those abs of yours look tight – how about we loosen them up a little?"

She placed the knife against his gut. Oliver's muscles tightened, ready for the next assault….

"Chloe, don't!"

She turned, to find Bart standing in the doorway to the cell. Immediately she knew that his appearance meant danger, a fact confirmed by the sight of a LuthorCorp guard lying unconscious in the corridor beyond.

"So you _were_ lying, after all," she said knowingly, squaring up to Bart. If she was unnerved by his presence, she didn't show it; she eyed him closely, alert to his every move.

"I warned Lex not to trust you, but he wouldn't listen," she continued, the knife still grasped firmly in her hand. "You always were trouble, Bart – you should have stayed in the gutter where Oliver found you."

"It's over, Chloe," said Bart grimly. He'd only caught a glimpse of what had been happening, but the wound in Oliver's chest told its own story. "Lex has messed with your head, but Emil can help you, believe me."

Chloe laughed. "What, like he's helped you?" she scoffed, taking a step towards him. "You're deluded, Bart. Oliver's the one who's messed with our heads, not Lex."

Bart took a step back. He knew that it was pointless trying to get through to Chloe, and the way she was holding the knife made her intentions all too clear.

"Don't do this, Chloe," he warned, circling round as she continued to stalk him. "Don't make me hurt you."

"Hurt me? Really? I don't think so, Bart - Not when I can do this."

Without warning she threw the knife at Bart. At such close range he didn't stand a chance, the blade embedding itself in his left shoulder. He staggered backwards, wincing in pain; he'd expected her to come at him with the knife, and the attack had caught him completely off guard. Almost immediately she was upon him, slamming him into the wall and pinning him against it. Stunned, Bart could only watch as she grabbed the knife and pulled it clear, its removal causing him to cry out in pain. Determined to finish him off, Chloe immediately thrust the knife in the direction of his heart. He ducked away just in time, but before he could get clear a blow to the back of his head sent him crashing to the floor. Dazed, he tried to get to his feet, but a kick to his gut caused him to fall once more. She then leapt upon him, her thighs locking his arms against his sides and making escape impossible.

"You arrogant piece of shit!" said Chloe, staring down at her wide-eyed captive. "Did you think you'd take me with that super-speed of yours? I'm not stupid, Bart – I know all your moves, remember?"

"Chloe….!"

"Shut the fuck up!" she hissed, slapping him round the face. "You had your chance, Bart – too bad you made the wrong choice."

Paralysed, Bart could only watch as she raised the knife above him, its blade aimed straight in the direction of his heart. Instinctively, he clamped his eyes shut; if he was going to die, he didn't want to see it coming.

The fatal blow never came. Instead he heard a crackling sound, like a charge of electricity being released. He felt Chloe slump forwards on top of him, before an unseen hand dragged her clear.

Bart opened his eyes. Roy stood over him, the prod which minutes earlier had been used to torture him grasped firmly in his hand.

"Thought you could do with some help," he said simply, staring down at his teammate. He offered his hand. Smiling, Bart took it and pulled himself to his feet.

"Thanks, dude," said Bart, looking down to where Chloe now lay unconscious on the floor. "Guess I owe you one."

"Make that two," replied Roy. "You betrayed me to Lex, remember?"

"Hey, I'm sorry, man," said Bart, obviously discomforted to be reminded that it was his actions that had delivered Roy into Lex's clutches and led to directly to his torture. "But I needed to get Lex's trust. If there'd been some other way…."

"You did what you had to do," interrupted Roy, keen to reassure his friend that he understood. "Now let's get out of here, yeah?"

The two of them moved to where Oliver stood shackled against the wall. A brief search revealed the location of the keys to the cuffs, and seconds later they had released him from his bonds.

"Chloe – how is she? Is she alright?" he asked fearfully, pulling away his gag. Oblivious to his own wounds, he only had eyes for the young woman who now lay unconscious on the floor just a few feet from where he stood.

"It's okay, Oliver – she's going to be fine," said Roy reassuringly, reaching out and taking Oliver by the arm. He appeared unsteady on his feet, the effects of what he'd been through plain for all to see.

"We need to get her out of here – we need to help her," he said anxiously, trying to go to her. He stumbled, only Roy's steadying hand preventing him from falling.

Roy and Bart exchanged glances. It was clear Oliver was in a bad way. The wound on his chest continued to ooze blood, and he looked haggard, exhausted. Worse, it was clear that the torture he'd suffered at Chloe's hands had left him broken and shattered inside. Roy had seen what she'd done to him, witnessed first-hand the cruelty she'd visited on a man who was guilty of nothing save loving her more than anything else in the world. Those long minutes when she'd abused him might have given him an opportunity to work free from the bonds that had held him prisoner, but they had also left Oliver emotionally crippled, a husk of the man he had once been. They needed to get him to safety; if they didn't, there might not be much of the old Oliver left to save.

"We'll help her, Oliver – I promise," said Bart. "But first let's patch you up, yeah?"

Whilst Bart set about dressing Oliver's wounds as best he could, Roy grabbed some cord and bound Chloe's wrists behind her back. She was already stirring, the effects of the electric shock beginning to wear off. As he finished his work an alarm blared in the corridor outside.

"Sounds like AC's giving Lex some serious trouble," said Bart, unable to stop himself grinning.

"AC?" said Oliver, confused. "But AC's dead – I saw it with my own eyes…."

"He's alive, Oliver. That fight with Clark? A set up, staged to make you think AC was dead."

Oliver said nothing, seemingly overwhelmed by what was happening.

"Don't worry about Clark, neither," continued Bart, busying himself with securing a makeshift bandage to Oliver's chest. "We've got him, thanks to some of Lex's kryptonite. He'll be fine, once we get Emil's antidote inside him."

Oliver reached out and grabbed Bart by the arm. He stared at him for a moment, his face full of emotion.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For what, dude?"

"For this – for coming back for us."

Bart flushed. Oliver's words, as simple as they were powerful, brought a lump to his throat.

"Hey, you'd do the same for me, bro," he replied.

"Awww, how sweet!"

Oliver and Bart turned. Chloe, now fully conscious, was watching them from the floor, Roy standing guard over her with a gun.

"The sidekicks rescue the hero, just like in those comic books you love so much," she sneered, her eyes fixed firmly on her former lover. "Give it up, Oliver. You can't escape – the security systems in this place are state of the art. Surrender now, and maybe Lex will show mercy and give these boys a quick death."

Ignoring Chloe, Oliver zipped up his tunic. He seemed to be growing stronger by the second, both physically and emotionally. He turned to Bart, his features fixed in a look of grim determination.

"So how do we get out of here?" he asked.

Bart felt relieved. The old Oliver was returning, even as he watched; he might be wounded, but the leader he'd followed on countless missions was asserting himself once more.

"We've got a truck ready to go in Sector 14 – the area's used for storage, so it shouldn't be swarming with Lex's goons. All we need to do is get Emil and pick up Clark and we're ready to go."

"You know where Emil is?"

"Yeah – they've got him locked up in Sector 11. We can reach him through some service passages."

"What about the surveillance cameras?"

"I've uploaded a virus into the system – all Lex's apes are gonna see is a whole lot of static."

Oliver gently nodded his head, clearly impressed by what he was hearing. "That's good, Bart," he said appreciatively. "But how do we get past the perimeter? Lex's men will be all over it like a rash."

Bart grinned. "That's the best part," he said, obviously excited by what he was about to reveal. "While Lex thought I was enjoying his hospitality I paid a visit to his armoury and helped myself to some of his C4. I've set charges all over this base, dude – in fifty minutes this whole place is gonna go BOOM!"

Roy reached down and took Chloe by the arm. Angrily she brushed him away, getting to her feet unaided.

"You think you've got it all figured out, don't you?" she said contemptuously. "You don't stand a chance, and when Lex gets his hands on you….."

"That's enough!" ordered Roy, jabbing the barrel of the gun into Chloe's back. "We don't want to hear it, okay?"

Chloe glared at him defiantly. "Or what? Do you think Oliver's going to let you hurt me? Tell them, Oliver – tell them how you'd do anything for me, how you'd even betray them if it meant you could have your beloved Chloe back."

"Chloe, listen to me," began Oliver, moving towards her. "I know you don't believe me, but we are going to help you – you just have to….."

"Ohh, spare me the lecture, you pathetic piece of shit!" said Chloe vehemently. She then spat straight in his face. It was an act of brutal insolence calculated to humiliate him, and it worked; shaken, Oliver took a step back, the vulnerability of moments earlier once again writ large on his face. Bart nodded to Roy, who needed no further encouragement; grabbing some of the material that Bart had used to bandage Oliver, he stuffed it into Chloe's mouth, fixing it in place with a strip of duct tape.

"Time to go," said Bart decisively, not wanting to give anyone time to dwell on what had just happened. "Oliver, are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied, wiping away the spit from his face. "Let's do this."

"Watch her," said Bart. Roy nodded, once more pressing the barrel of the gun into the small of Chloe's back. Together, the four of them made their way out into the corridor.

The escape was on.

* * *

><p>"They've gone, sir," said Santos, bursting into the room and eager to report. "Chan just checked in. Four of our men were out cold, and there's no sign of Queen, Sullivan or the kid."<p>

Lex didn't move, but continued to stare out of the window into the blackness of the night. Outwardly he appeared calm, his clenched fists the only clue as to the rage that was burning inside.

"Any sign of them on the cameras?"

"No sir. The system's down – I've got a team working on it, and they say it will be back up in an hour."

_The system's down. _Of course it is, thought Lex to himself – Curry and Allen have planned this all very carefully. He'd been a fool to trust Bart; he should have followed his instincts and locked the kid up as soon as he'd shown his face at the base. Instead he'd let him have the run of the facility, allowed him to learn about its weaknesses, the flaws in its defences. How could he have been so stupid? How could he allow some street punk to put all he'd worked for in jeopardy?

"The men are scouring the base, sir," continued Santos. "We'll find them – it's only a matter of time."

"No, you won't," said Lex dryly, turning to face his most trusted lieutenant. "Our adversary is no fool, Mr Santos. Bart Allen will have his escape route already planned out, and one thing's certain - you won't find it."

Santos frowned, uncertain how to respond. He remembered all too clearly Lex's warning that his job was on the line if Oliver escaped, but now his boss seemed to be giving up.

"So what do we do, sir?"

Lex smiled thinly. Things might be slipping away from him, but he still had one ace to play – one card that could yet deliver Oliver straight back into his clutches.

"Is Curry outside?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring him in – it's time our watery friend started talking."

Santos left the room, to return moments later with AC. The young hero's hands were bound behind his back, and two guards kept their guns trained permanently at his head.

"What's up, Lex?" he asked boldly, staring his captor straight in the eye. "Your pet apes can't find them, can they? I sympathise, dude, I really do, but like I keep telling you, you need to get better help. These goons of yours? Losers, bro – the monkeys at Metropolis zoo could do better than these guys."

AC's flippancy was brave, but costly. Santos stepped forward and drove his fist hard into the young hero's solar plexus. AC doubled over, momentarily winded, before a second blow, this time to the back of his head, caused him to fall to his knees. Santos grabbed him by the hair, brutally yanking his head backwards.

"Ape, am I?" he roared, his eyes filled with rage. "You need to learn some manners, you fucking freak!"

Normally the sight of AC getting beat up by one of his men would have amused Lex, but not today. He needed his captive to talk, and talk quickly; torture without a purpose was no use to him.

"How do they plan to escape?" he asked coolly, standing over AC.

"Sorry Lex, you'll need to be more specific," gasped AC, his chest heaving as he tried to force air into his battered lungs. "Surf guys like me, we're not very bright, yeah?"

Lex pursed his lips, irritated by the other man's response. He'd often taunted AC about his supposed lack of intelligence; he wasn't amused to find his opponent using that same charge as a way of evading his question.

"Don't play dumb, Curry," he continued, an edge of frustration in his voice. "You friend Bart Allen – how does he plan to get Oliver off this base?"

AC grinned; he could sense Lex's annoyance, and was enjoying himself too much to stop now. "Get off the base? Dude, you got it all wrong! We love it here, man – pissing you off has never felt so good!"

Lex looked at Santos and nodded. Santos needed no further instruction. He let go of AC's hair, only to then smash his fist straight into the side of his face. AC's head whipped sideways with the force of the blow, before he toppled to the ground, blood spewing from his mouth.

"Last chance, Curry," said Lex, pulling from his pocket the controller that activated the chip attached to AC's cerebral cortex. "How do they plan to get off this base?"

"Can't help you, Lex," gasped AC, coughing and spitting up blood. "Wish I could, but….."

AC didn't get chance to finish his sentence. Lex activated the chip, and immediately waves of crippling pain pulsed through his defenceless body. He screamed with agony, his cry seeming to well up from deep within him and then explode with a ferocity so intense it rent the air asunder. His body went into spasm, his muscles on fire as the pain seemed to become more acute with every second that passed. And the seconds _did_ pass – first ten, then twenty, then thirty. The guards blanched as they watched their captive's suffering, one of them averting his eyes rather than watch the hero's agony. Even Santos was shaken by what he saw, but Lex appeared unmoved; he watched dispassionately as AC writhed in torment, impervious to his screams.

At last, after forty seconds had passed, Lex removed his thumb from the controller. AC lay exhausted and panting on the floor, his costume soaked in sweat. His captor squatted beside him, cool and collected.

"That was Level 6," he said, staring down into the bloodshot eyes of his young victim. "The chip attached to your cerebral cortex has four more levels, Curry, and you will experience them all unless you tell me what I want to know. So I ask you again – how is Bart Allen planning to escape from this facility?"

Shattered by what he had just endured, AC glared up at his tormentor. The rebelliousness of moments earlier was gone, but his courage remained intact; he was damned if he was going to break, whatever Lex might throw at him.

"Go fuck yourself, Luthor," he whispered defiantly. "Torture me all you want, I'll never talk!"

Lex stood up. "Very well," he said calmly. "Level 7."

And so it began – a test of wills between a young hero determined not to betray his friends and a man who would stop at nothing to get the information he wanted. With every level Lex increased the amount of time the chip was active, so that very quickly AC was forced to endure minutes of excruciating pain without even a moments' rest. When respite did come the pattern was always the same. Lex would ask his question, AC would refuse to answer – and then the pain would start up all over again. AC had been captured before, suffered every kind of punishment, but nothing could have prepared him for the hell that Lex visited on him in those long, terrible minutes. Despite it all, his determination not to yield never wavered. He knew he was buying his friends time, and that every minute he held out brought them a minute closer to freedom. He'd hoped to have been with them; that had been the plan. But capture had always been a possibility, and if by sacrificing himself Bart and Oliver were able to escape then so be it. If he was going to die, he wanted his death to mean something – and nothing meant more than saving his friends.

Fifteen minutes passed. Finally, on his second round of Level 10, AC stopped moving, his body's defences finally overwhelmed. Lex stared down at his apparently lifeless form for a moment, before nodding to Santos. The other man stepped forward; leaning down, he checked for a pulse.

"He's alive, sir, but unconscious – I don't think he'll come round any time soon."

"Damnit, NO!" roared Lex, lashing out and kicking AC in the ribs. He'd thrown all he had at Curry, but the hero's determination to resist had thwarted him. And all the time minutes were passing, and Oliver was slipping further and further from his grasp.

"What now, sir?" asked Santos.

Lex stood still for a few moments, trying to regain his composure. Torturing Curry hadn't worked, but the game wasn't over – not by a long shot. A germ of an idea quickly took shape in his mind, an idea that might yet deliver Oliver and all his freaks straight back into his clutches.

"The communication system – it will allow me to speak to the whole base?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Take me to the comms room – now."

"Sir."

Lex allowed himself a half smile. AC's defiance had been frustrating, but it had reminded him of one thing – the fierce loyalty that members of Oliver's band of freaks felt for each other.

It was a loyalty that would now cost them their lives.

* * *

><p>The guys are escaping, but AC's in trouble - will they be able to save him, and what is Lex planning? I hope that you can feel we're moving towards the climax to this story, and I can promise you lots of action and drama in the chapters to come. I've got some great scenes in my head - I just hope I can bring them to life for you!<p>

Thanks SO SO much to all of you who took the time to review the last chapter. Your support and encouragement was overwhelming, and has really inspired me. It is great to know you are all still out there, but please do keep the feedback coming - even a few words can be so important!


	34. Chapter 34: Goodbyes

**Chapter 34: Goodbyes**

Fifteen minutes had passed since Bart had led Oliver and the others from the interrogation room. So far, everything had gone exactly according to plan. It hadn't taken long for them to find Emil, and Bart and Roy had made short work of the men who were standing guard at his cell. Fortunately, the scientist appeared unharmed, despite spending over a day enjoying LuthorCorp's hospitality; Lex had clearly viewed Emil as a useful asset, and one to be treated accordingly. They were now making their way down a seemingly never-ending succession of dimly lit service corridors, moving ever closer to their expected rendezvous with AC. All that then would remain would be to pick up Clark and make their escape, all under the cover provided by the spectacular series of explosions that Bart had carefully prepared. He had laid charges at key points throughout the base, their locations designed to inflict the maximum amount of damage; if Bart was right, in the ensuing chaos no one would notice yet another LuthorCorp truck rushing across the grounds to escape the flames.

The service corridors were deserted, the only reminder of the danger that continued to surround them the incessant blaring of the sirens. Outwardly Bart remained his usual confident self, but inside the doubts he'd had since he'd started the rescue mission refused to go away. After all the setbacks they'd endured, he dared not allow himself to believe that this time it was all going to work out. To be confident would be to tempt fate, and bitter experience had taught him to assume nothing; only when they had finally cleared the perimeter and were on the road back to Metropolis would he really believe that this time they had succeeded in outsmarting Lex. Above all, he was worried about AC. As always, his friend hadn't batted an eyelid when Bart had told him of his part in the escape plan, accepting his role with a broad grin and a "no problem, bro." But he was taking on some of Lex's best men, and was vastly outnumbered; even for someone of Aquaman's abilities, it was a big ask. What if he got caught, or worse? It was a fear that had never been far from Bart's mind since the two had parted, and he knew he wouldn't feel right until he saw AC's smiling face at the rendezvous point.

If AC's safety was a cause for concern, Bart was reassured by the change he was seeing in Oliver. The broken, confused prisoner of the interrogation room was now well and truly gone. The old Oliver was back, the Oliver he'd followed and observed on countless missions. He was focused, alert to any sign of danger; moreover, he seemed content to defer to Bart's leadership. Ironically, this only made him appear even more their natural leader; he didn't need to shout orders to command their instinctive respect. Only when he looked at Chloe did the mask slip. Bart could only imagine the hurt that he was feeling, to see the woman he loved so cruelly transformed. There was sadness in his eyes when he looked at her, a vulnerability that filled him with anger. How could Lex do this? How could he destroy something so beautiful, so precious, as the love they had shared? They'd make him pay for what he'd done – that is, if they made it out of there alive…..

Suddenly the sirens stopped. The five halted, all but Chloe exchanging worried glances. This wasn't part of the script – what did it mean?

"_Oliver."_

Lex's voice echoed eerily off the walls of the corridor. They knew immediately that his words were emanating from a speaker hidden somewhere nearby, but that didn't make his presence any less real –or any less unsettling. The calmness of his voice, combined with the effect of a speaker sounding in a confined space, caused a collective shudder to run down their spines; it was as if he had been watching them, waiting for this moment to strike…..

"_I know you can hear me," _he continued, his tone as measured as it was menacing. _"Oliver, I have your friend Curry. You have fifteen minutes to surrender, or else he will be executed. Meet me in the arena – I'm sure Bart can show you the way. Fifteen minutes, Oliver – fifteen minutes, or else Aquaman dies."_

The broadcast ended, leaving a deafening silence in its wake. Nobody spoke, all of them trying to come to terms with this latest blow to their hopes.

"He could be bluffing," said Roy finally, his words carrying little conviction.

"He's not bluffing," said Bart grimly. He turned to Oliver, who appeared lost in thought. He knew what he had to say, even though it broke his heart to say it.

"Oliver, we need to keep moving," he began. "We all knew the risks when we got into this, AC more than any of us. He wouldn't want you to surrender, not now we're so close. If you turn yourself in, Lex will kill both of you – you know that. We have to keep moving – it's our only chance."

Oliver didn't reply. There was a brutal logic to what Bart was saying, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. Images of AC filled his head, his smiling face beaming at him. Could he really abandon his greatest friend, the man he loved like a brother?

There was only ever going to be one answer.

"I'm turning myself in, Bart," he said simply, turning to his teammate. "You and Roy go ahead - get Chloe and Clark out of here."

"But Oliver….!"

"My mind's made up, Bart. I can't leave AC – you know that."

"But you'll both die!"

"Emil, make sure Chloe and Clark get that antidote of yours, okay?" continued Oliver, ignoring the teenager's protests. "And then do all you can to bring Lex to justice. You'll have quite a team to help you, and I know they won't let you down."

Emil nodded. All of them were suddenly aware of what was happening - Oliver was making his final farewells.

"I'm coming with you," declared Bart, not wanting to accept where things were heading. He couldn't lose Oliver – not now, not after all they'd been through.

"No, Bart – I need you to lead the others out of here," replied Oliver, sensing his friend's distress.

"Roy can do that – here, all he needs to do is follow this map," said Bart, pulling from his pocket a piece of paper on which he'd drawn a plan of his escape route. "You need me, Oliver – if we work together at least AC's got a chance."

"Bart…"

"The charges – I can rig the charges at the arena," he continued insistently, refusing to take no for an answer. "The explosions will give you guys some cover – a chance to escape."

This time Oliver said nothing. He could see the sense in what Bart was saying, but it would mean putting another of his friends at risk…..

"Please, Oliver," implored Bart. "He's my friend, too, dude – we're a team, remember?"

Oliver hesitated. He could see the desperation in the teenager's eyes, his burning desire to stand by his friends. It was then he realised – Bart could not abandon him, any more than he could abandon AC.

"Okay, Bart," he said finally. "You win."

Bart nodded, relief and gratitude writ large on his face.

"Get them to safety, Roy," continued Oliver, turning to the newest member of his team. "I'm counting on you."

"Don't worry - I won't let you down," replied Roy. He too wanted to go with Oliver, to stand by him in what they all sensed would be a defining encounter with Lex. But now wasn't the time to argue; he had his part to play, and accepted it without hesitation.

"Good luck," he added, his voice choked with emotion. "Stay safe, yeah?"

He and Oliver embraced, hugging each other close as only two men who knew they might not meet again can. No more words were needed; both understood what was at stake.

Farewells complete, Bart and Oliver turned and began to make their way back down the corridor. Behind them, Emil and Roy wondered whether they would ever see either of them alive again.

* * *

><p>Chloe's mind was racing as she followed Emil down yet another of the endless service corridors that led towards Clark and the truck that would take them to freedom. Not that Chloe saw it as freedom, of course; in her mind she was a prisoner, a victim of yet another attempt by Oliver's band of freaks to escape justice. It was an escape attempt she was determined to stop, whatever the cost. Lex's intervention minutes earlier had raised her hopes, just as it had dashed those of her captors; she'd expected her new boss to have something up his sleeve, and she'd not been disappointed. Now that Oliver and Bart had left, she sensed an opportunity to intervene herself in the developing drama. It was an intervention that might yet prove decisive. Chloe was all too aware that whilst Lex held a trump card in AC, he had no idea about the charges that Bart had rigged to explode all across the base. He might yet be able to use them to help Oliver escape; she needed to free herself, warn Lex of the danger…<p>

She considered the two men who had been left to watch over her, assessing their strengths and weaknesses. Emil was a gifted scientist, sure, but he was no fighter; disposing of him would be easy. The kid who was pressing the gun into the small of her back was different. Roy Harper was a fighter, and a talented one at that; schooled in how to survive in the brutal environment of Nemesis, Oliver had trained him since they had arrived in Metropolis, honing his skills so that he was ready to take up his place in his team. There was no doubting his ability to handle himself in a fight, but he was still green, and prone to make mistakes. He had already made one, using a length of cord to bind her hands behind her back. They had seemed to forget that she too had undergone training whilst working as Watchtower, training that had included escape and evasion techniques. It hadn't taken her long to work her bonds lose; now she was just waiting for her opportunity to capitalise on their carelessness…..

In front of her Emil came to a halt. Looking ahead, she could see that the corridor divided three ways, each passage looking exactly the same as the others. Emil stared at Bart's map, apparently uncertain as to which route they should take.

"What's wrong?" asked Roy.

"It's the map – according to this there should only be two corridors here, not three."

Chloe stood motionless. This might be the opening she'd been waiting for; her heart beating a little faster, she watched and waited….

"Here, let me look."

Roy stepped past Chloe and took the map. As he did so she spotted the knife he was carrying in his belt, a knife he'd picked up back in the interrogation room. Immediately she saw what she had to do; it was risky, but with the element of surprise on her side she instinctively knew it would work.

"See, we're here, and look – there's only two corridors marked, not three," said Emil, pointing at the plan.

"Yeah, I can see that," replied Bart, frowning as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at. Behind him he didn't notice the cord that he'd used to bind Chloe's wrists fall silently to the floor, or the murderous look in his prisoner's eyes as she pulled the gag from her mouth and prepared to strike….

"I guess we take the one on the right," he shrugged, looking up just as Chloe made her move. With breathtaking speed she grabbed the knife from his belt, at the same time seizing Emil and pulling him back towards her. She pressed the blade against his throat, her eyes flashing with exhilaration at a plan perfectly executed. Too late Roy realised what was happening; he took aim with the gun, but with Emil as her hostage Chloe suddenly held all the cards.

"DROP IT!" she hissed, glaring at Roy. "Drop it, or he dies!"

Roy hesitated, unsure of what to do. Inwardly he cursed himself for being so careless; it wasn't the first time Chloe had got the drop on him, but this time the stakes were higher than ever.

"I'll give you three seconds," continued Chloe. "One…."

"Okay! Okay!" said Roy, dropping the gun and raising his hands in the air. "Just don't hurt him, yeah?"

"Now kick it over here."

Again, Roy did as he was told. Chloe then pushed Emil towards him, before quickly reaching down and grabbing the gun. Immediately she pointed it in their direction.

"Turn around, both of you."

Roy and Emil looked at each other. Both felt increasingly uneasy. It wasn't just that they were prisoners once more; there was something about the way she spoke, the coldness in her eyes. Something inside was telling them not to turn their backs on this woman, that she was planning something terrible….

Chloe fired a shot into the wall to the left of Emil. "Turn around, or the next one won't miss," she ordered. Terrified, Emil immediately turned towards the wall, placing his hands on his head for good measure. Slowly, Roy did the same, a knot of fear tightening in his gut as he did so.

"Now kneel."

Neither man moved.

"Kneel!"

Again it was Emil who knelt first, followed by Roy. Both men's hearts were pumping furiously in their chests. They'd seen enough movies, read enough stories of gangland shootings, to know where this was heading…..

"Don't do this, Chloe," said Roy, his throat dry with fear. "Lex will want us alive, you know that."

Chloe smiled. "Lex will want Emil alive," she said coolly. "But you? I don't think so."

She pressed the barrel of the gun into the back of Roy's head.

"You've outstayed your welcome, sidekick," she said calmly. "Time to say goodbye."

* * *

><p>Is it the end for Roy? Could be...<p>

All I will say is that we are moving towards the climax of this story, with four, maybe five chapters to go, and at least one person is definitely going to die - I'll leave you to keep guessing as to who it might be...

I've almost finished the next chapter, so it should be posted in the next week or so. Hope you are still enjoying this - please do post a review if you can, as every bit of feedback and encouragement means so much!


	35. Chapter 35: A Fatal Lesson

**Chapter 35: A Fatal Lesson**

"One minute, AC – one minute, and Mr Santos here will put a bullet in that empty head of yours."

Lex stared down at his captive, who knelt bound and gagged beside him. Earlier the defiance that blazed in the young hero's eyes had riled him, but now it was a source of amusement. The anger and uncertainty he had felt when he had learnt of Oliver's escape had disappeared; now he felt supremely confident, even serene. There was no doubt in his mind that Oliver would show. AC meant the world to him, and it was inconceivable that he would abandon him and leave him to die; he was like his kid brother, a fact that Lex now intended to exploit in the most terrible way imaginable….

"Oliver's timekeeping has never been good," he continued, feigning anxiety as he checked his watch for the second time in ten seconds. "I don't want to worry you, AC, but at Excelsior he often got into trouble for being late to class."

AC didn't appreciate Lex's peculiar brand of twisted humour. He scowled at his captor, grunting furiously into his gag. Behind him stood Santos, grinning broadly as he pressed the point of his gun into the back of AC's head. Unlike their prisoner, Santos knew what Lex was planning; he'd been given a key part to play in the drama that was about to unfold, and he couldn't wait to get started. Around them a dozen heavily armed LuthorCorp guards scanned Lex's makeshift arena, their eyes everywhere as they awaited Oliver's arrival. Grim faced, they appeared ready for action; many of them had been at the wrong end of a beating from the Justice League before, and they wouldn't be happy until its leader was once more under lock and key.

"Thirty seconds," said Lex, once again looking down at his helpless captive. "Perhaps I was wrong, Mr Santos – perhaps our hero doesn't care for blondie here as much as I thought he did."

Again AC swore into his gag, his words muffled by the tape that was wrapped tightly around his head. Despite the torture he'd been subjected to, he was in pretty good shape, and part of him wanted to bust free of his restraints and break Lex's neck. The gun pressed against his skull meant that any such attack was impossible, of course; that, and the fact that Lex still had in his possession the controller that could cripple him in an instant. Not for the first time he found himself a helpless spectator in Lex's duel with Oliver, and the fact that he was being used as a hostage was eating him up inside. He wanted more than anything for Oliver to fail to appear, for him to ignore Lex's crude attempt at blackmail and make his escape. Deep down, however, he knew it wasn't going to happen. Like Lex, he knew Oliver too well; he wouldn't abandon a friend, even if it meant sacrificing his last chance of freedom.

"Lex."

All eyes turned to the right. There, framed in a doorway, stood Oliver.

"And here he is!" exclaimed Lex, watching as two of his men rushed forward to make their new found prisoner secure. "We were getting worried, Oliver – lover boy here thought you might have stood him up!"

As the guards tied Oliver's hands behind his back and manhandled him forward the two heroes exchanged glances. Oliver could see that AC had suffered a savage beating, but in his eyes his spirit blazed as strong as ever. He wanted to reassure him, tell him that all was not lost, and that high above them Bart was working furiously to rig the charges that might yet give them both a chance of escape. Just a couple of minutes, that's what Bart had said – if he could just succeed in stalling Lex for a couple of minutes….

"You gave us quite a fright there, Oliver," said Lex, gloating as the leather clad hero was frog marched in front of him. "Trying to leave like that – and after all the effort I put into taking care of your every need!"

"What? Like faking my friend's death and fucking with Chloe's head?" replied Oliver, staring his captor straight in the eye. "If that's what passes for Luthor hospitality then you know where you can stick it, Lex."

Lex smiled. "I see that this brief taste of freedom has done nothing for your manners, Oliver. Mr Santos, please remind our friend here of the standard we expect from our guests."

Santos stepped forward and without warning backhanded Oliver across the face. The ferocity of the blow left Oliver dazed, but Santos wasn't finished; a punch to the gut caused him to double over in agony, before an upper cut to the chin sent him crashing to the ground, blood spurting from his mouth.

"You really shouldn't have tried to defy me, Oliver," said Lex, his voice suddenly cold. "This little escape bid of yours was a mistake, and one that you will pay dearly for."

Desperate to help his friend, AC hauled himself to his feet. His hands remained bound behind his back, but still he made a lunge at Lex. The other man was too quick for him. Neatly sidestepping the attack, Lex watched as Santos brought the butt of his gun down on the back of AC's head. AC fell to his knees just a yard or so from where Oliver lay, before a second blow, this time across the face, meant that he too fell helpless to the floor.

"Trying to save Oliver, were we?" sneered Lex, his lip curled in contempt as he stared down at the young hero. "You dumb fuck – don't you ever learn? Disobedience brings punishment, Curry – punishment like this!"

He pulled the controller from his jacket pocket, savouring the look of fear in AC's eyes as his thumb hovered over the device. He then pressed down on the screen. Immediately AC went into spasm, convulsing uncontrollably as the chip attached to his brain sent waves of crippling pain to every muscle, every nerve in his body.

Lex stood over his two captives, like a hunter towering over his prey. "Look at you," he said contemptuously. "The pretty boy and his pet freak. Did you really think you could defeat me? Did you really think you could escape?"

"Leave him alone, Lex," gasped Oliver, watching as AC's body continued to twitch grotesquely. "It's me you want – not AC!"

"Leave him alone?" repeated Lex, his eyes flashing with sadistic glee. "Now why would I want to do that, when we're all having such fun!"

He increased the setting on the controller. AC screamed, his half muffled cry echoing off the walls of the arena.

"_Come on, Bart," _thought Oliver to himself. _"Do it – do it now!"_

* * *

><p>The first thing that Roy was aware of was the pain. His head throbbed, as if someone had smashed his skull repeatedly against a brick wall. He could feel that he was lying on his side, but when he tried to move he found he couldn't. For a few seconds he was confused, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. What was this? Why were his hands and feet bound? He tried to focus, to put into order the jumble of memories that were tumbling around in his head. He remembered saying goodbye to Oliver, guarding Chloe as they continued to make their way to the truck that would take them to freedom…..<p>

_Chloe!_

Suddenly it all came back to him - how she'd jumped him, forced him to his knees and pressed the gun against his head. It was all shockingly clear, as if it had happened just seconds earlier. His stomach churned as he recalled how he'd felt when she'd pressed the barrel into the back of his skull, how he'd been convinced that she was going to pull the trigger. He'd thought he was going to die, and yet here he was – alive. What had happened? What was going on?

He opened his eyes. Immediately he recognised the corridor in which he lay as the same as the one where Chloe had got the drop on him. Looking up, he could see where it split three ways; ruefully, he remembered how their indecision about which of the passages to take had given Chloe her opportunity to strike.

"Roy, are you okay?"

Turning awkwardly on the floor, Roy found Emil lying beside him; he too had been bound hand and foot.

"What happened?" asked Roy, wincing; the sound of his own voice seemed to make his splitting headache even worse.

"Chloe knocked you out, and then tied us up," replied Emil, relieved that his new teammate had regained consciousness.

"How long have I been out?"

"Not long – five minutes at most. Roy, she's gone to warn Lex about the explosives."

Roy's face darkened. He knew exactly what that meant – Bart's escape plan, and with it the lives of Oliver and AC, was in jeopardy.

He tugged at the cord that bound his hands. It had been tied tightly, but not so tightly that he had no chance of working himself free. Perhaps she'd got careless in her rush to stop Bart, or maybe she'd expected him to be out longer; whatever the reason, the slight give in the cord gave him a chance. Quickly he slid himself across the floor towards Emil, manoeuvring himself so that the two sat back to back.

"Here, help me with this cord," he said, his fingers stretching out, searching for Emil. The pain in his head was forgotten; all that mattered now was to get free, to stop Chloe before it was too late.

"Can you feel it?" he asked, his fingers touching Emil's.

"Yes, I can feel it," replied Emil, an edge of excitement in his voice. Together, they began to work on the knot, both aware that they were in a race against time.

Unbeknownst to them, they were already too late.

* * *

><p>"Turn it off, Lex – I'm begging you, just turn it off!"<p>

Oliver's pleas continued to fall on deaf ears. Almost a minute had passed since Lex had activated the chip in AC's head, but for Oliver it seemed like an eternity. He'd been tortured many times, but nothing compared to the torment he endured when he was forced to watch one of his teammates suffer. And AC was suffering – even the gag that filled his mouth could not stifle the terrible cries and moans that bounced off the walls of the arena, a symphony of horror that made even the toughest of Lex's guards blanch. Only Lex appeared immune to their effect. If anything, the sound of the young hero's agony seemed to excite him; that, and the sight of Oliver's helplessness, as once again he was forced to be a spectator as a member of his precious team was put through hell.

"Turn it off, damnit – TURN IT OFF!" screamed Oliver, his desperation turning to impotent rage as he glared up at his captor. Smiling, Lex reached out, as if he were offering Oliver the controller. Despite the fact that his hands were tied behind his back, Oliver instinctively stretched his body up towards it. He came within inches, only for Lex to cruelly snatch it out of his reach.

"Now, now, Oliver – where are your manners?" he taunted, holding the controller aloft like a school yard bully who had stolen a child's favourite toy. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's wrong to steal? Oh, I forgot – your mother died when you were still just a boy. Now how did that happen again? That's right – my father had her killed, along with your dear ol' daddy!"

"Fuck you, Lex – FUCK YOU!"

"Fuck me? Oliver, I think you're the one who's fucked – although perhaps not quite as much as your fishy friend here," said Lex, turning towards AC's stricken form. "My scientists tell me that after five minutes of this a man suffers irreversible brain damage. Quite what effect it will have on a freak with half a brain they didn't say – I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Santos laughed. He enjoyed it when Lex was on form, and he could see that his boss was just getting into his stride. Expecting his men to share his delight in the unfolding horror, he glanced across to where a couple of them were standing. It was then he saw the two figures approaching from the far side of the arena, one holding a gun to the other's head.

"Mr Luthor."

"Not now, Santos – can't you see that Mr Queen and I are busy?"

"Mr Luthor – look, it's Sullivan."

All eyes turned in the direction of the two approaching figures. Sure enough, Chloe was one of them, but the sight of the other filled Oliver with despair. Bart was leading the way, his hands bound behind his back. Immediately Oliver knew what this meant; not only had their last chance of escape disappeared, but his hopes of getting Chloe and Clark to safety had also come to nothing.

"Chloe, I was wondering where you'd got to," said Lex smoothly, at last taking his thumb from the controller; intrigued by Bart's appearance, he was prepared to call a halt to AC's torment, temporarily at least. Instantly the young hero's body fell still, the only sign of life his labored breathing as he struggled to recover from this latest assault.

"And I see you've got company," he continued, watching as a couple of his men rushed forward to meet the new arrivals. Grabbing Bart by the arms, they dragged him in front of Lex. Oliver looked up at the teenager, hoping for a sign that despite his capture he had still managed to rig the charges. Bart's slight shake of the head made it clear that his worst fears had indeed been realised; there would be no explosion to cover an escape.

"The traitor returns," said Lex coolly, eying his new captive as he struggled against the grip of Luthor's guards. "That was quite a performance you gave there, Bart – you had us all convinced that you'd seen the light and abandoned Oliver and his band of losers."

"He's laid charges all over this facility," said Chloe, her business-like tone underlining the scale of the disaster that had befallen the young heroes. "They planned to set off a sequence of explosions to cover their escape."

"Well, well, you have been busy," said Lex. "You must be so proud of him, Oliver – yet another of your protégés prepared to die to save your skin."

"Go to hell, Luthor!" said Bart angrily, pulling against his captors' hold. The teenager's frustration at his failure was obvious; that, and fear of what Luthor now had planned for all of them.

"Quite possibly I will, Bart. But not before you, I think – and certainly not before your friend Curry here."

Disdainfully Lex nudged AC with his foot, as if he were a piece of roadkill he'd come across on the sidewalk. There was silence for a few moments, Lex allowing time for the meaning of his last words to sink in. Chloe's arrival had been unexpected, but it didn't change anything. He still intended to punish Oliver, and punish him in a way that was so swift, so brutal, that it would shatter his captive forever. The stage was set, only now the audience would be larger than he'd anticipated. It didn't matter – the time had come.

"The freaks of the JLA, all at my mercy," he gloated, turning and staring down at his rival, who lay crushed and humbled before him. "How many times has this happened now, Oliver? Four? Five? And yet somehow you and your boys always manage to survive. Time we changed that, I think – time you learnt that disobedience comes at a price."

He nodded to Santos, who in turn signalled to two of his men. Together, they grabbed AC and hauled him to his feet. He was conscious now, but dazed after his earlier ordeal; he offered no resistance as they dragged him away in the direction of the viewing gallery from where Lex had presided over his fight with Clark twenty-four hours earlier.

Oliver was suddenly gripped with a sense of impending doom. Lex's words, the look in his eye as he towered over him – he was planning something, something terrible. Filled with dread, he turned himself over, struggling to get a better view of what was happening. It was then that he saw it. A flight of steps led from the gallery down to ground floor level, running alongside the wall. In front of these a wooden platform had been erected, about twelve feet from the ground. Rising from the platform was a thick wooden post, a length of rope looped over the top.

_A scaffold….._

"What are you going to do, Lex – what are you going to do with AC?" he demanded, unable to mask the fear in his voice.

Lex didn't reply. All eyes were turned towards the platform, and the young man who was being marched towards it…

"No, please – don't do this!" pleaded Oliver, awkwardly pulling himself to his knees. Bart too began to struggle furiously against his captors, realising what was happening. At the scaffold AC was already being forced up the steps, Santos pushing him forwards….

"Beg all you want, Oliver – it won't make any difference," said Lex coldly. "This is your doing – had you not tried to escape, I would have allowed Curry to live a little longer. As it is, he has to die – perhaps then you will learn the meaning of obedience."

"No!" implored Oliver. "Kill me, torture me, but please – don't…"

Suddenly a hand was clamped hard over Oliver's mouth, silencing his protests. He looked up, to find Chloe standing over him, a gun in her hand.

"Sssshhhh!" she whispered, leaning down so that her lips were just inches from his ear. "Don't make a scene, Oliver - we don't want AC's last memory to be of you blubbing like a little boy, now do we?"

She pressed the gun into the side of his head, whilst keeping her other hand fixed firmly over his mouth. Helpless, Oliver could now only watch as Lex's latest piece of theatre ran its twisted course.

AC had reached the platform. Seeing the noose, he now grasped what his friends below had already understood. He began to struggle with Santos and the other guards. Despite his weakened state and the ropes that bound his arms tightly behind his back, he was able to put up quite a fight, even succeeding in knocking one of the men off the platform. It was only when Lex drew his attention to the gun pressed against Oliver's head that he finally succumbed. He was trapped, and they all knew it; any further resistance and it would be Oliver and Bart who would die, not him.

"A wise decision, Mr Curry," said Lex, walking slowly towards the scaffold. "I knew I could rely on you for a pointless display of self-sacrifice. Now, do you have any last words for us – any final gems of surf boy wisdom you'd like to impart? Mr Santos, remove his gag."

"You won't win, Luthor," responded AC bravely, gasping as Santos tore the tape from his mouth.

Lex smiled. "Ahh, how I shall miss your misplaced displays of courage, AC. But this really is goodbye, my friend – this time there will be no second chances, no returns from the dead."

Santos placed the noose around the young hero's neck. AC swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. He knew this was it; this time there was no way out.

"Don't give up, Oliver!" he shouted defiantly, looking out across the arena to where his friend was watching. "Don't give up until this fucker….."

He didn't get chance to finish his sentence. Acting on a signal from Lex, Santos pulled the handle that released the trap door beneath AC's feet, sending him plummeting into the empty space below.

* * *

><p>Is this the end for AC? Could be...<p>

The next chapter is going to be action packed, and get ready for a shock - someone **is** going to die. I'll leave you to guess who it might be, but here's a clue - it's **not** Lex...

Hope you are still enjoying this - only 3-4 more chapters to go, so we are nearly there! Please do post a review if you can - your feedback means so much!


	36. Chapter 36: A Hero's Death

**Chapter 36: A Hero's Death**

"NNOOOOO!"

Bart's gut-wrenching scream tore through the air, drowning out the sickening sound of the rope as it twisted obscenely in the stillness. All eyes were on the scaffold. No one present had ever seen a man hanged before. Some were fascinated, a few repelled – but only two of those watching experienced the emotions of a man forced to watch a friend die. Anger and rage, despair and desolation – these and a hundred other feelings swirled around in their heads. Bart struggled ferociously against his captors, lashing out in all directions like a man possessed; driven mad with grief, he was desperate to get free, to run to AC and cut him down before it was too late. Oliver, however, didn't move. Like a statue, he appeared rooted to the floor, his gaze fixed firmly on the horror that was unfolding in front of him. It wasn't only because Chloe continued to hold a gun to his head; his heart broken, he already knew it was too late. Tears rolled down his cheeks; AC was dying, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Like his men, Lex watched transfixed as AC's body twitched grotesquely on the end of the rope. He'd seen men die before, but not like this; there was a rawness to it, an intensity, that was truly shocking. Lex could see AC's eyes bulging in their sockets, his face turning blue as he lost his fight for air. Most would have been sickened by such a sight, but not Lex; high on adrenalin, he felt thrilled by it, even elated.

"Are you watching this, Oliver?" he declared loudly, his eyes flashing with excitement as he stared up at AC's stricken form. "Are you watching this freak die?"

Suddenly there was a blinding flash. All eyes turned upwards, just as a sheet of flame appeared to engulf the roof above them. Materials of every shape and size began to rain down, from the twisted remains of steel girders to lumps of stone and masonry. Panicking, Lex's men began to run for cover. For two of them it was already too late, a huge section of wall crushing them where they stood. There were more explosions, each louder than the last. The entire roof began to give way, and screams mixed with the sound of falling debris as men tried to escape the unfolding disaster. Lex himself stood rooted to the spot. He seemed detached from the chaos all around him, his eyes burning with barely concealed rage. He turned towards Oliver, now lying on the ground some distance away. He could just make him out through the clouds of smoke and dust, pulling against his bonds as Chloe lay motionless beside him.

"Mr Luthor, we need to get you out of here."

Lex turned, to find one of his men standing beside him. He stared at him for a moment, not seeming to register what the man had said.

"Sir, the roof – the whole thing could go any second!"

"Queen – we must get Queen!" shouted Lex, pointing to where Oliver lay.

The man looked dubiously in the direction that Lex was indicating. Oliver was some distance away, and with every second that passed more and more chunks of stone and brickwork were falling from the roof. Fires were taking hold all around, and the acrid, poisonous smoke that was fast filling the arena was beginning to make it difficult to breathe. Lex might have been his boss, but his instinct for survival was stronger than his willingness to obey orders.

"There's no time – sir, we must get out here!"

Lex was not prepared to take no for an answer. Too many times he'd come close to victory, only for it to be snatched away at the last minute. He was determined that this time would be different. He didn't care about his own safety, still less the safety of the man who stood next to him. All that mattered was Oliver. He would not let him slip from his grasp again – not now, not when he was so close. He would take him alive, or he would see him dead – whatever the cost to himself and anyone else who crossed his path.

"I'm not leaving without Queen!" he shouted furiously, staring wildly at the guard. He grabbed the man's gun from its holster, brandishing it in his direction. "Now you're going to help me, or you die now – understand?"

"Yes, sir!" replied the guard, his eyes widening at the sight of the gun. He didn't doubt for a second that Lex was prepared to make good on his threat; taking his chances with the building that was collapsing all around him suddenly seemed preferable to the bullet that Lex would undoubtedly put in his head if he failed to cooperate.

"Move!"

Together the two men began to make their way towards where Oliver lay. It wasn't easy; the smoke and dust made it difficult to see where they were going, and the debris that scattered their path made rapid progress impossible. However, as they neared their target Lex could see that Oliver had worked his hands free; he appeared to be cradling Chloe in his arms, shielding her from the flames and the falling masonry as best he could.

Seeing that Oliver's hands were free enraged Lex. It seemed to confirm his worst fears, that once again he was to be cheated of the victory that had become his obsession ever since he'd learnt the true identity of the hooded vigilante all those months before. He raised his gun to fire, too late sensing the shower of bricks that were falling directly above him…

The man beside him shouted a warning, but Lex didn't hear. He aimed the gun, and then everything went black.

* * *

><p>Roy ran down the passage in the direction of the arena. Ahead of him, framed in the archway that marked the end of the corridor, he could see fires burning out of control. As he got closer he could make out people shouting, their voices mixing with the sound of masonry crashing to the ground and occasional explosions. The place was in chaos. He'd already passed three of Luthor's men running in the opposite direction; such was their desire to escape they hadn't even given him a second glance. He didn't have time to reflect on the fact that he was the cause of all this destruction, that just a minute or so earlier he'd set off the charges that Bart had hidden high in the roof of the arena. He'd arrived too late to warn his friend of Chloe's escape, but watching the teenager being marched away as a prisoner he'd known immediately what he had to do. He'd not had a great deal of explosives training, but it was enough; the result was the carnage that he was now about to enter.<p>

Arriving at the entrance to the arena, Roy stopped and tried to get his bearings. He'd had no choice but to trigger the explosives, but as he surveyed the scene of destruction that confronted him he was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. The bombs had been intended to give the guys a chance to escape, but what if they'd failed? What if Oliver and the others were already dead, victims of the very thing that was meant to give them freedom? Knowing that he couldn't allow himself the luxury of such doubts, he dismissed them from his mind. He needed to focus, to find his friends while there was still time. Fires were burning all around him. Miraculously, to his right the automatic sprinkler system was still working, spraying water in a futile attempt to douse the flames. Steam mixed with smoke and dust, the particles getting stuck in his throat and making him cough. Covering his mouth in an attempt to protect himself from the fumes, he plunged forwards into the arena. He'd caught a glimpse of Oliver from a tiny observation window just prior to the charges going off, but that had been from about three floors up. Everything appeared very different now that he was down at ground level, and to make matters worse he had no idea of how the passageway he'd just emerged from related to what he'd observed a couple of minutes earlier. He wasn't quite going in blind, but it was close; the truth was he had very little idea of where his friends were, and that he would need a massive stroke of luck if he was to find them.

The floor of the arena was covered with the remains of the roof. Debris of all shapes and sizes littered his path, and this, combined with the smoke and dust, made progress difficult. He soon came across his first body, a LuthorCorp guard crushed beneath a fallen girder. The man's eyes were still wide open, staring blankly into the air in the direction of the lump of metal that had killed him. Roy turned away quickly, all too aware that such a fate might also have befallen Oliver and the others. Stumbling onwards, after a couple more minutes of fruitless searching he was becoming increasingly desperate. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack; he needed to change the game, whatever the risks.

"OLIVER!" he shouted, his voice floating out over the vast expanse of the arena. He waited, hoping for a reply. There was none; all he could hear was the sound of the fires burning around him, and the creaking of twisted metal and brick.

"BART!"

He shouted again. He knew he was taking an enormous risk; Lex and his men might still be close by, and his cries might attract their attention. However, he felt he had little choice. Oliver and the others could be injured, and every second spent searching was a second wasted.

"OLIVER!"

For a third time he waited, but again there was no reply. Sighing, he was about to set off once more, when finally he heard a voice.

"Roy, over here!"

_Bart!_

Roy's heart leapt with joy at the sound of the teenager's voice. He looked all around, his eyes scanning the debris, searching for where his friend was located.

"Where are you?" he shouted. "I can't see you."

"Here – we're over here!"

Roy turned. There, just a dozen or so yards away, was Bart, standing on top of a pile of rubble. Checking that he wasn't being watched, Roy immediately began to make his way over.

"Oliver – where's Oliver?" he asked anxiously as he approached. Bart had used the word "we," but Roy knew that he might still be injured, perhaps seriously.

His friend's smile soon put his mind at rest. "He's fine, dude," he said, glancing down to his right. Roy looked, and saw Oliver kneeling on the ground. In his arms he was cradling Chloe, whose hair was stained with blood.

"Is she…?" he asked.

"She's okay, Roy – she's just been knocked out," said Oliver, looking up at his newest team member. "I guess we have you to thank for the charges going off – good job, kid."

"Yeah, good job," repeated Bart. "You saved our butts – makes you a fully paid up member of the crew, bro."

"And AC – what about AC?" asked Roy, looking around.

"Fish boy didn't make it – just like you won't, fucker."

All three turned, to find Santos standing just a few feet away. Roy guessed that he must have heard him calling Oliver's name; whatever the case, he'd found them. Covered in dust, he was bleeding from a wound to his left shoulder. In his right hand he held a gun, which was pointing straight in their direction.

Bart reached out to his left, as if he was going for a weapon. Santos fired, the bullet shattering the teenager's hand. He screamed in pain, clutching his hand to his chest as blood spurted from the wound.

"Move again and I'll kill you!" hissed Santos, watching with satisfaction as Bart struggled to staunch the bleeding.

"Okay, okay!" said Oliver, trying to diffuse the tension and sensing that the other man was in a highly volatile state. "You got us, yeah? Nobody else needs to get hurt."

"Shut your fucking mouth!" replied Santos, glaring at Oliver. "Now get up, and don't try anything stupid."

Oliver didn't move.

"I said, get the fuck up!"

Reluctantly, Oliver gently lay Chloe on the ground. Slowly he then got to his feet, never once taking his eyes off his captor.

"Did you think you were just gonna walk out of here, Queen?" sneered Santos. "Did you think we were gonna let you and your freaks escape?"

"Look, we're your prisoners," said Oliver, trying to lower the temperature. He could see the other man was on edge, that at that moment he was capable of just about anything…..

"I told you to shut the fuck up!" shouted Santos, brandishing the gun in Oliver's direction. "There's been too much talking. It's time we ended this, and if Lex can't do it, I will."

He aimed the gun directly at Oliver's head, his finger tightening on the trigger…..

Suddenly there was movement away to the right. Santos turned, just in time to see AC emerge from behind a pile of rubble. Stunned by the appearance of a man he thought was dead, he tried to shoot, but it was too late. AC knocked the gun from his hand, before grabbing him and hoisting him high above his head. He then threw him across the arena, his body coming to rest impaled on an upturned girder. Death was instantaneous, the girder penetrating his chest and cutting straight through to his heart.

"I never did like that guy – always kept me hanging around," said AC, grinning as he turned towards his friends. Bloodied and bruised, he looked as if he had been in the fight of his life, a thick red line marking the place where the noose had cut into his neck. He was also soaked to the skin, the young hero having taken advantage of the sprinkler system to restore his strength.

The others were speechless. All but Roy had seen him hanging from a rope, seemingly in his death throes. They'd thought him dead, and yet here he was, very much alive.

"Guys, you look like you've seen a ghost," he quipped.

"We thought….." stammered Oliver, struggling to recover from the shock of his friend's apparently miraculous escape.

"What, you thought I was dead?" said AC, his grin widening. "Bro, you're talking to Aquaman, remember – cheating the grim reaper is what I do."

The two hugged each other; overwhelmed with relief, they both knew they were lucky to be alive.

"Dude, what about me – don't I get to share the love?"

AC turned to Bart, who stood nursing his shattered hand.

"Man, are you okay?" he asked, alarmed by the sight of his friend's blood-stained costume.

"Flesh wound," said Bart casually, making light of what was clearly a pretty serious injury. "Now do I get a hug or what?"

Grinning, the two friends embraced. All of them felt as if their luck had turned, and now all that remained was to make it out of the facility alive. Bizarrely, at that moment that didn't seem as if it would present too much of a challenge; after all they'd been through they felt indestructible, as if they could take on the world and still come out on top.

"We need to get moving," said Oliver, taking charge. He scanned his surroundings, alert to any signs of danger. "Roy, which way?"

"Follow me," replied Roy. "I know a short cut – Emil's waiting for us."

As carefully as he could, Oliver took Chloe in his arms and lifted her from the ground. They then set off across the arena, picking their way through the remains of Lex's theatre of horrors as they made their way towards the exit, and freedom.

Lex himself had just regained consciousness. Dazed, for a few seconds he lay still on the ground, trying to make sense of what was happening. Blood was oozing from a wound to his head, but otherwise he was unharmed. The guard who had accompanied him had not been so lucky. Turning his head, Lex could see him lying just a few feet away, his skull caved in by the shower of bricks that had fallen from the roof. Struggling to his feet, Lex stood for a moment, his head spinning. Fires were burning all around him, and if anything they appeared to be strengthening. Common sense was telling him that it was time to get out of there, but he remained fixated on Oliver, on the need to stop him at all costs. As his head began to clear he scanned his surroundings, trying to locate him. At first he saw nothing, but then some movement away to his left attracted his attention. It was Oliver, moving towards a doorway with Bart and the others.

Lex was suddenly gripped with an almost insane fury. His worst nightmare was coming true, right before his eyes – Oliver was escaping, and he seemed powerless to stop it. He looked about him, searching for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. It was then he saw the guard's gun, lying on the ground just a foot or so away. He grabbed it, before turning and taking aim straight at Oliver's head. He was only twenty or so yards away, certainly close enough for Lex to be confident his shot would find its mark. Miraculously, they still hadn't seen him. Lex didn't hesitate: checking his aim one last time, he squeezed the trigger….

It was then that Bart saw him. There wasn't time to shout a warning, still less to push Oliver clear. Acting on instinct, the teenager threw himself into the path of the bullet. For anyone without Bart's abilities it would have been a futile gesture, the bullet already having left the barrel of the gun before he began to move. But Bart wasn't just anyone; his abilities meant he could save his friend. The bullet tore into his chest, felling him in an instant. The others turned, for a split second not understanding what was happening. Then they saw the blood. They ducked down, their eyes everywhere, searching for the danger. Lex tried to fire again, but the gun had jammed. He caught sight of Oliver, crouching down low as he tried to protect Chloe. The two stared at each other for a few moments, before Lex turned and disappeared into the smoke that was billowing from one of the fires.

Oliver scrambled over to Bart. The teenager was lying flat on his back, his costume soaked with blood. A huge hole marked the spot where the bullet had ripped into his chest. AC and Roy joined him, the three exchanging worried looks. No one spoke, but they were all thinking the same thing:

_This is bad – very bad._

"Looks like I saved your ass again, dude," said Bart weakly, trying to force a smile. He wanted to be brave, but his eyes betrayed him. There was fear there, even terror; he knew he was in mortal danger, even though mercifully he could not see the scale of the wound that had torn open his chest.

"Just lie still, Bart," said Oliver, kneeling beside him. "It's going to be fine, yeah? Everything's going to be fine." He pulled away the teenager's tunic, hoping to get a better look at his injury. There was blood everywhere; the bullet had entered his chest close to his heart, and Oliver could see that without immediate medical attention the kid was unlikely to make it. There was no chance of that happening, of course, and as he applied pressure to the wound he was suddenly overcome with an incredible sense of helplessness. Bart was dying – here, right before his eyes – and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Bart stared up at him, the color draining from his features by the second. "It's bad, isn't it?" he asked.

"You're going to be okay, Bart – everything's going to be okay," replied Oliver, gripping the boy's hand tightly. Lying there, Oliver was struck by just how young he looked. The swagger of the old Bart was gone; now there was just a very frightened kid, terrified of the unknown.

"You always were a lousy liar, Oliver," he whispered, wincing as he spoke. His breathing was shallow, his life force ebbing away at an alarming speed. "Looks like I'm checking out, dude – guess I get to die like a hero after all."

Tears began to roll down Oliver's cheeks. "You're not going anywhere, you hear?" he said, his voice choked with emotion. "You're going to be fine – we're gonna get you to a hospital and you're gonna be just fine."

He squeezed Bart's hand even tighter, willing the frightened teenager to hang on a little longer….

"Stay with me, Bart," he said, watching as Bart's eyelids began to flutter. He didn't hear; a second later and his eyes closed for good. His hand went limp in Oliver's grip, his body suddenly lifeless and unmoving.

"Bart? Bart, stay with me, yeah?" said Oliver, looking for a response that didn't come. He shook him, as if trying to wake him from a deep sleep. Again, there was no response. Still Oliver wouldn't accept it. He shouted the boy's name, shook him again and again. Nothing worked. AC and Roy looked on, tears running down their cheeks. They knew what in his heart Oliver also knew:

Bart had gone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Bart's dead!<strong>_

I said one of the guys wasn't going to make it - well done to those of you who guessed it would be Bart. He really is dead, too - I'm not planning to bring him back, and his death provides the backdrop to the final showdown between Oliver and Lex. Only a couple more chapters to go, but still plenty of action and drama to come, I promise!

Thanks for being so patient in waiting for updates, and I hope you are enjoying the climax to the story. Please do leave a review if you can - without feedback it can sometimes be really hard to get motivated to write.


	37. Chapter 37: The Final Confrontation

**Chapter 37: The Final Confrontation**

"It's over, bro – let him go, yeah?"

AC gently squeezed his friend's shoulder, tears running down his cheeks as he spoke. Oliver didn't react; instead he remained absolutely still, his eyes fixed on Bart's lifeless body. He'd been like this for over a minute now – unmoving, apparently oblivious to everything save for the teenager he still cradled in his arms. For AC and Roy, forced to stand by and watch, it was an almost unbearable scene, their tears mingling with feelings of utter helplessness as they fought to control their emotions. Both had lost a friend, but they knew that their loss was nothing compared to what Oliver was going through. He was the man who had brought them all together, forged them into a team. The bond he felt towards each of them was special, and they knew that at that moment he would have given all he had to exchange places with the boy who had given his life to save his. They could not begin to imagine how he was feeling, how after all they had suffered together it should come to this, when they were so close to freedom…..

Oliver's mind was in turmoil. Anger, despair, rage, guilt – these and a dozen other emotions swirled around inside his head. Bart was dead, but part of him still did not believe it. From the moment he'd started to recruit the guys to his team he'd felt a duty of care towards them, as if their safety was his special responsibility. Of course they'd joined with their eyes open, fully aware of the risks. That didn't matter; what mattered was that they were _his_ team, and he'd promised himself he'd look after them, keep them safe. Now he'd failed, and Bart was dead. He couldn't help thinking that it should have been him lying there, not Bart; he was the leader, after all, the man who'd got them into all of this in the first place. Bart hadn't asked for any of this, but still he'd given his life for another without a second's hesitation. Bart had died a true hero, and that filled him with both pride and shame in equal measure. Pride that the kid had sacrificed himself so selflessly; shame that he had let the teenager down, allowed him to throw away his life so that he might live. Because Bart wasn't coming back – he knew that. This time there would be no last minute miracle, no final twist that saw the hero cheat his maker. Bart really _was_ dead; as Lex had said, life isn't a comic book – sometimes there isn't a happy ending…

_Lex….._

The thought of Luthor suddenly filled Oliver with rage. _He_ had done this – he had murdered Bart, killed him like he'd killed so many others before. It was time to stop this, stop it before any more innocent lives were lost. Maybe it was too late for a happy ending, but he could still put an end to Luthor; perhaps then this would all mean something after all, and his fallen friend would not have died in vain….

Slowly, gently, he lowered Bart's body to the ground. He then got to his feet, his tear stained face a picture of grim resolve.

"Take care of them, AC," he said, glancing across at Roy and Chloe. "I'm counting on you – don't let me down."

"But Oliver – what….?"

"I'm going to do what I should have done months ago – I'm finishing this."

AC immediately understood the meaning of his friend's words. "Oliver, you can't – you're hurt, bro," he said, trying vainly to dissuade him. It was pointless, of course; Oliver's mind was made up, and no amount of persuasion was going to change that.

"I'm going after him – I have to," he replied quietly.

"After Lex? But he'll kill you!" said Roy, now understanding what was happening.

"At least let us come with you – even up the odds a little," said AC. He knew nothing could stop Oliver from going after Lex, but he still hoped to protect his injured friend from an encounter where he would very much be at a disadvantage.

"No – I can't lose anyone else," replied Oliver firmly. He looked at AC, imploring his old friend to understand. "I need you to get them to safety – please, will you do that for me?"

AC hesitated. He could see the determination in Oliver's eyes, the hurt that could only be assuaged by the confrontation that he now sought. Both men knew that Oliver might not make it back alive, but at that moment AC understood that he had no alternative but to let his friend go. With Bart dead, facing Lex was something that Oliver had to do, whatever the outcome.

"Please, AC," repeated Oliver.

"Okay, Oliver," replied AC reluctantly. "We'll do it your way."

Oliver nodded, acknowledging his friend's acceptance of his need to act alone. The two embraced, each trying to draw strength from the other for what lay ahead.

"Take care, you hear?" said AC, choking back his emotions.

"You too, big guy," said Oliver, squeezing his friend a little tighter; with Bart dead and Victor's fate still unknown, he was all too aware that AC was the only member of his original team still standing.

The two parted. Nothing more was said – there didn't need to be. Oliver took one last look at Chloe, still lying on unconscious on the ground. His features fixed, he then turned and disappeared into the smoke that billowed all around.

"You're just going to let him go?" asked Roy, staring incredulously at AC.

"He has to do this alone, Roy," replied AC quietly. "Trust me – he knows what he's doing."

He looked down at Bart, his eyes filling with tears at the sight of the teenager's lifeless form. "Come on, kid – let's get you home," he said, scooping up the boy's body into his arms. Roy did the same with Chloe, and together they began to make their way towards the exit, and freedom.

* * *

><p>Oliver moved swiftly across the floor of the arena, expertly weaving his way between the fires and the fallen masonry that lay all around. He appeared oblivious to the chunks of stone and brick that continued to fall from the collapsing roof, and to the acrid smoke that filled his lungs and in places reduced visibility to almost zero. All he could think about was Lex. He was determined to find him, even though the odds of locating him appeared slim at best; not only did he have a head start on him, but Oliver had no idea of the direction in which he'd fled after he'd fired the shot that had killed Bart. Despite this Oliver did not doubt for a second that he would find him, just as he knew that when the time came he would have to kill him. Bart was just the latest in a long line of Lex's victims, and the killing would go on unless he, Oliver, finally put a stop to it. Something inside told him that everything had been leading up to this moment. All the years that he and Lex had fought each other, from their time together at Excelsior to their rivalry in business and finally the life or death struggle between the Justice League and LuthorCorp - it had all been building up to this final confrontation, the moment when at last their feud would reach its inevitable climax. The moment of decision had arrived, and only one thing was certain – only one of them was going to leave the arena alive.<p>

"Luthor!" he roared, his voice echoing above the sound of the flames. "You want to kill me, well here I am – take your best shot!"

He jumped on to a piece of fallen masonry, as if he were trying to make himself as easy a target as possible. It was a reckless act, but Oliver didn't care; he needed to smoke Lex out, and Bart's death had momentarily snuffed out his instinct for self-preservation.

"Luthor!" he repeated, daring him to do his worst. "Come out and face me, damnit – or are you really just a coward after all!"

A shot rang out. Instinctively Oliver ducked, just as he felt a sharp pain in his left arm. Looking down, he saw blood oozing from a fresh wound, presumably where the bullet had just nicked him. Ignoring this latest injury, he leapt from the lump of masonry and made a dash for a doorway just off to his right, certain that the bullet had come from there. He threw himself headlong inside, tumbling head over heels so as to catch his attacker off guard and give him as little chance of taking another shot as possible. Coming to rest in a crouching position, he quickly surveyed his surroundings, his senses alert to every danger as his heart pumped furiously in his chest. He was at the foot of a stairwell, still dimly lit by the emergency lighting that had kicked in after the main power supply to the arena had failed. Looking around, Oliver could see that there was no other exit. An access corridor was blocked by fire; if Lex had come this way, he must have headed upwards.

Oliver didn't hesitate. He began to climb the stairs, taking three at a time in an attempt to close the gap on his attacker. It only took him a few seconds to reach the top, where he found himself confronted by a closed door. Driven on by the adrenalin that was now pumping through his veins, he threw himself at it, crashing through into the room beyond. Again Oliver tumbled forwards, all too aware that Lex was almost certainly waiting for him. Another shot rang out, this time missing him by a fraction of an inch. Oliver turned, to find Lex standing just a few feet away. He flew at him, knocking the gun from his hand and sending him careering into a wall.

"You want me, Lex? Do you? Do you want me?" he roared, grabbing Lex by the lapels and thrusting him up against the wall. "Well here I am, you sick fuck – HERE-I-AM!"

He slammed Lex repeatedly against the wall, taking pleasure in the look of terror in the other man's eyes. Robbed of his gun, Lex looked weak, powerless – just like he'd looked at Excelsior all those years ago, when Oliver and his friends had bullied him, picked on him for being different. For a split second the years fell away, and they were both back at the Academy, each cast once again in the roles of bully and victim, roles they both thought they had long since left behind.

"It's over, Lex," he hissed. "It's finished – and this is where you pay!"

He hauled Lex into the air, before flinging him through a plate glass window. The glass shattered into a thousand pieces, but Oliver barely noticed. Like a force of nature he bore down on Lex, grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. The two men were on a balcony now, the same balcony from where Lex had entertained his guests during the fight between Clark and AC. Beneath them the fires continued to rage in the arena, the noise of the flames mixing with the sound of an occasional explosion.

"Please…. Please, don't…" whimpered Lex, seemingly terrified by the man who now held his life in his hands.

"SHUT – THE – FUCK – UP!" roared Oliver, the sound of Lex's voice only serving to enrage him still further. Again he threw Lex against a wall. Lex slumped to the floor, before Oliver grabbed him and began punching him repeatedly in the face.

"This is for Dean – and Bart – and all the others you've killed, you murdering son-of-a-bitch!" he shouted, reigning blows down on his helpless prey. It was a savage, merciless beating – the sort of beating that Oliver himself had been subjected to so many times over the previous five months. Blood spurted from Lex's nose, his mouth. He tried to plead with Oliver, to beg for mercy, but it was no use. After all he had suffered, all he had lost, at that moment Oliver's mind was filled with only one thought: vengeance. Vengeance for Dean Caruso, for Bart Allen, for all the others who had ended up victims of Lex's evil. Well now he would be made to pay – finally, at long last, there would be justice.

"Had enough, Lex? Have you? Have you had enough?" said Oliver finally, his eyes staring wildly as his fist hovered over Lex's bloodied face.

"Go to hell!" replied Lex, blood dribbling obscenely from his mouth.

"Go to hell? You first, Lex – you first!"

He pulled Lex from the floor and dragged him over to the edge of the balcony, thrusting him forwards so that he hung perilously in mid-air. All that stood between Lex and the fires that burned below was Oliver's vice-like grip, a grip that he seemed ready to loosen at any moment….

"Go on, do it!" spat Lex, daring Oliver to do his worst. "Kill me – it's what you want, isn't it?"

"You're a killer, Lex," shouted Oliver, his face contorted with rage. "Dean, Bart – you murdered them!"

"So what are you waiting for?" snarled Lex, goading Oliver on. "Kill me – it's what you want, isn't it? Kill me, and show the world what sort of a hero you really are!"

_A hero….._

The word echoed like a warning inside Oliver's head. Suddenly his anger dissipated, to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of fear; fear of the anger that had momentarily consumed him, and fear of what it had almost led him to do. What was he thinking? This wasn't the way – this wasn't the way at all. Killing Lex wouldn't bring Dean or Bart back; all he would achieve would be to dishonour their memory, taint the cause for which they'd given their lives. They'd believed in him, believed in his vision of a team of heroes fighting for justice. Was it justice to kill Lex in cold blood, murder him as he had murdered so many others? Surely that would make him no better than Lex, a killer who believed himself to be above the law…

"Do it, damn you!" growled Lex. "Kill me!"

For a few moments Oliver did nothing, staring at the man whose life he literally held in his hands. Lex stared back at him, his eyes filled with hate. Oliver could see that he wanted him to let him fall, as if he knew that in death he could still achieve some sort of victory, corrupt the cause for which Oliver had already sacrificed so much. He couldn't allow that – he couldn't allow Lex to win, not after all they'd been through, all they'd suffered…..

"No," he said finally, pulling Lex back from the edge. "I won't kill you, Lex. This time you'll face justice for what you've done – the lives you've ruined."

He swung Lex round, before pushing him forwards towards the broken glass door. It was the opportunity that Lex had been waiting for. He pretended to stumble, falling to the floor and clutching his leg. Unaware of the danger, Oliver let his guard down. Suddenly very tired, he reached out to help the other man to his feet. Lex held out his hand, appearing to accept Oliver's offer of assistance, before suddenly grabbing a large piece of glass from the floor and stabbing it with all the force he could muster into Oliver's thigh. Oliver cried out in a mixture of shock and pain, grabbing his leg in agony. Now it was Lex's turn to press home his advantage. He leapt to his feet, grabbing Oliver and throwing him to the floor. Oliver tried to get up, but Lex was too quick for him. He started to kick and stamp on Oliver's head and upper body, raining blows down on him with a ferocity that more than matched the beating Oliver had meted out to him just a minute or so earlier. For what seemed like an eternity the assault continued, until at last Lex desisted, standing in triumph over Oliver's broken body.

"You should have killed me when you had the chance, Oliver," he gasped, breathing heavily. "Well now it's over – now I win."

He staggered over to a cabinet mounted on the wall adjacent to the door. Opening it, he pulled out a small handgun. Checking it was loaded, he then turned to face Oliver.

"Get up," he ordered.

Oliver didn't move.

"I said, get up!"

Slowly, painfully, Oliver hauled himself up from the floor. Turning towards Lex, he drew himself up to his full height, meeting the other man's gaze without a hint of fear. He knew that this was it – he was about to die.

"Any last words before I kill you?" sneered Lex, raising the gun and pointing it directly at Oliver's head.

Oliver said nothing. He lifted his chin slightly, readying himself for the end….

"What, nothing?" asked Lex. "You surprise me, Oliver – you really do. Still, perhaps it's for the best – you always did talk too much."

He hesitated, his finger poised over the trigger. He'd pursued Oliver for so long, had him at his mercy so many times, he couldn't quite believe that this was it. And yet here he was, a split second away from killing Oliver and finally bringing an end to a rivalry that had become an obsession. A minute earlier and he had been the one facing death, but Oliver had blinked, and now the tables were turned. He would not make the same mistake. He would not allow Oliver to slip from his grasp – not this time, not after all that had happened….

"Goodbye, Oliver," he said calmly. "Time for you to die."

He squeezed the trigger. There was a flash of light, and then everything went black.

* * *

><p>The final cliffhanger...<p>

If you are still reading, thanks for waiting so patiently for this update. Just one more chapter to go, when (almost) everything will be resolved...


	38. Chapter 38: The End?

**Chapter 38: The End?**

Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping its sides tightly as he stared blankly at the wall in front of him. Around him a variety of monitors and medical equipment stood silently, a reminder that his time in Metropolis General was coming to an end. They'd brought him here nine days earlier. Initially the doctors had said his chances were no better than 50:50, but after the first forty-eight hours his recovery had been little short of miraculous. Four hours earlier and they'd declared him fit to be released, and so here he was – dressed in a three thousand dollar Armani suit and ready to face the world. Not that he was thinking about that now, just as he wasn't thinking about the army of reporters who had besieged the hospital since his arrival and who were desperate to get their first shots of the billionaire vigilante whose remarkable story had made headlines around the world. Instead his head was filled with images of what had happened on that balcony in those final, fateful seconds, images that had haunted him since he'd first regained consciousness. He could still see Lex's finger on the trigger of the gun, how he'd smiled as he'd taken aim at his head. Then there had been that incredible flash of white light, so bright it had momentarily blinded him. Later he'd found out it had been a gas explosion, the force of the blast so strong it had blown him half way across the balcony. He'd blacked out, but just before he'd lost consciousness he'd caught sight of Lex. Somehow the explosion had set light to his clothes, engulfing him in flames. Screaming in agony, he was stumbling from one side of the balcony to the other, trying to extinguish the fire that was consuming him. For a split second the two men's eyes had met. It was a look that Oliver would never forget; the hate that blazed in Lex's eyes, the fury that once again he had been cheated of the victory he'd worked for for so long. He'd shouted something – Oliver hadn't been able to make out exactly what – and then he'd run forward and jumped off the edge of the balcony, his flaming body plummeting into the fires that raged below. Oliver had never seen anything like it; like a glimpse into hell itself, the sight of Lex being burnt alive had seared itself into his memory. But he _had _seen it – he had seen Lex on fire, he had seen him leap to his death. Surely, then, it _was_ over – they may not have found Lex's body, but he was gone, dead, and this time he wasn't coming back…

Oliver owed his own survival to AC. He had no memory of what had happened, but he'd learnt later from Roy that his friend had insisted on going back for him, acting on some sixth sense that told him something was wrong. Oliver had told him not to put his life at risk, but not for the first time the big guy had ignored him. Like Bart, when he'd sensed Oliver was in danger he hadn't hesitated – that was why he was a hero, just like the kid whose loss they still all felt so keenly. Barely a minute had passed since he'd come to when he'd not thought of Bart. Mercifully, as the days had passed he'd found himself more and more remembering the good times, the laughs they'd shared together at Watchtower as they'd trained and prepared for yet another mission. Still he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for the boy's death, no matter how many times AC told him it wasn't his fault. He knew that the guilt he was feeling would never go away. It was something he was going to have to learn to live with, but that had been made immeasurably easier by the decision he'd taken back on that balcony, not to take Lex's life. At the critical moment, he'd made the right choice; Bart had not given his life for a murderer, but for a man who stood for a set of principles worth fighting for.

Voices outside in the corridor reminded him that the world was waiting, and that he couldn't hide from the glare of publicity any longer. So much had happened since they'd brought him in, but until now the hospital had shielded him from the worst of the media storm that had accompanied news of his return from the dead. With the death of its architect the elaborate house of cards that Lex had so meticulously created had come crashing down with breathtaking speed. Arrests had been followed by confessions, the full extent of Lex's conspiracy to destroy Oliver at last being exposed to a stunned public. The day before he'd been told officially that he'd been cleared of any involvement in Dean Caruso's death. Lex had framed him for the young detective's murder, and it was his arrest and subsequent trial that had catapulted him into the hell of Nemesis, and all that had happened since. The press had been his enemies then, delighting in broadcasting to the world images of the fallen hero, shackled like a common criminal. How times had changed; now he was the media's darling, the victim of a terrible miscarriage of justice and the man every journalist in the country wanted to interview.

His reputation had been restored, but there was one thing that no one could undo. The world now knew his secret, and nothing could change that. He was the Green Arrow, the billionaire who'd decided to don a leather costume and fight crime like some latter day Robin Hood. Now that his cover was blown, could he continue to lead a double life? Indeed, if Lex really was dead, was there any need for him to carry on? Perhaps the time had come to hang up his hood, settle down with Chloe and enjoy the quiet life. Part of him found the idea of retirement attractive, but deep down he knew it was never going to happen. His alter ego was a part of him now; he was as much Green Arrow as he was Oliver Queen. But he was entering unchartered waters, and living openly as a costumed vigilante would not be without risk. He'd made a lot of enemies since he'd first donned his leathers, and not all of them had died with Lex back at that facility; now they knew who he was they were certain to come after him, and those he cared about….

He wouldn't face these challenges alone, of course; he was part of a team, a team that had grown stronger since Bart's death. Not only had Emil's antidote cured Chloe and Clark, but they'd also found Victor. He'd been held in a building close to the perimeter of Lex's main facility, and once Emil had succeeded in penetrating the firewall that protected the LuthorCorp network he'd been able to upload the young cyborg's brain functions back into his body. Apart from having no memory of anything that had happened, he appeared to have come through his ordeal without so much as a scratch.

There was a knock at the door. AC entered, grinning reassuringly at his friend.

"Ready?" he asked simply.

"How many are there?" asked Oliver.

"Ohh, about a hundred and fifty crews," replied AC, his grin widening. "They've had to close the street - looks like the whole world wants a piece of you, bro."

Oliver swallowed hard. He'd faced the cameras a hundred times before, but never like this. As soon as he stepped foot outside the hospital he knew he would experience a media scrum the like of which Metropolis had never seen before.

"I guess you're not joining me," he said dryly, looking at what his friend was wearing. The faded jeans and battered leather jacket stood in marked contrast to Oliver's crisply laundered suit; AC looked just like any other guy in his twenties, only the orange bands around the arms of his jacket giving a clue as to his true identity.

"Dude, you know that if I could….." began AC, his grin suddenly disappearing. He looked worried, concerned that Oliver thought he was letting him down.

"Relax, AC," said Oliver, getting up from the bed. Now it was his turn to offer his friend reassurance. "I'm only joking – with Black Manta on your trail the last thing we need is for you to broadcast your location to every country on the planet!"

Relieved, AC smiled. "Thanks, bro – like you say, probably best if I slip out the back way."

AC turned towards the door. Oliver stopped him, eager to say something that he'd been meaning to say ever since he'd come round seven days earlier.

"AC."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"For what, dude?"

"For saving my life."

AC nodded in acknowledgement of Oliver's words. "Don't mention it, bro," he said quietly, suddenly serious. "I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done for me."

"Still, I mean it. You came back for me – without you I wouldn't be here now."

Oliver offered his hand. AC took it, the two then hugging each other like brothers. More than anyone, each knew what the other had been through, the torments they had endured. They were closer than they had ever been, their bond forged in the hell that Lex had subjected them to. AC was more than just a member of the team now; he was Oliver's right hand man, the unofficial second in command of the Justice League.

"Can I come in?"

The two men turned, to find Chloe standing in the doorway. She looked nervous, even frail; although cured of Lex's mind altering drugs, there was a long way to go before she would be fully recovered.

"Chloe!" said AC, moving over to where she stood. "I was just checking on Oliver before he meets his new fan club downstairs." He paused, aware of the awkward atmosphere that had suddenly descended on the room. "Ollie, I guess I'll see you back at Watchtower, yeah? And if any of those press guys get ugly let Chloe here loose on them – they won't stand a chance!"

He hurried from the room. Chloe and Oliver were left alone together, each eying the other apprehensively.

"You look well," said Oliver, making an effort to break the ice. Chloe had been to see him a couple of times since he'd regained consciousness, and each time conversation had been difficult. It was as if an invisible barrier had come down between them. Emil had told him that it would take time for Chloe to recover from the effects of Lex's drugs, but it was more than that. She had no memory of the time she'd spent under Lex's influence, and so mercifully she couldn't remember any of what she'd done. Despite this, it was as if somewhere deep down she knew something was wrong, that she'd done terrible things – unforgivable things…..

"I'm coming with you – facing the press, I mean," she said, stumbling a little over her words.

"Chloe, there's no need – after all you've been through….."

"I want to – I want to be with you, to stand by you."

He stepped forward, taking her in his arms and kissing her tenderly on the forehead. "Chloe Sullivan, my brave, brave Watchtower," he said, gently running his hand through her hair.

"Oliver."

"Yes?"

"If I ask you something, do you promise to answer me truthfully?"

Oliver looked at her. He could see the intensity in her eyes, the strain she was under.

"I promise," he answered solemnly.

"When I was under Lex's control…." She paused, as if she were feeling her way towards the right words.

"Yes?"

"Did I ….. Did I…. hurt you?"

She looked up at him, imploring him to tell her the truth but at the same time terrified of what that truth might be.

Unsure how to respond, Oliver played for time. "What makes you ask that?" he asked.

"It's something Emil said….. And I get flashbacks, images in my head," she replied. She was becoming more distressed now, tears welling up in her eyes. "Oliver, you must tell me – did I hurt you? I need to know – please, don't lie to me!"

Oliver hesitated. He'd promised to tell her the truth, but how could he? How could he tell her that she was the one who'd tortured him, cut into his flesh and laughed as he'd screamed for mercy?

"Oliver, please!"

"Yes, you hurt me," he said quietly, hugging her a little tighter. "But it doesn't matter, it…."

Chloe pulled away, tears flowing down her cheeks. "I knew it!" she sobbed. "I hurt you – how could I do that? How could I let myself do that to you? I'll never forgive myself – never!"

"Hey, stop this!" said Oliver, stepping forward and taking her firmly in his arms. He stared intently into her eyes, willing her to listen, to hear the words he was about to say. "You weren't yourself, Chloe – we all know that. What matters now is that I love you – I love you more than I have ever loved you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are what has kept me going through all of this – you, and the thought of the life we'd share together when it was all over. I love you, Chloe – I love you, and I'm going to marry you and make you the happiest woman on earth!"

He didn't allow her time to respond. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her, a kiss of such power and intensity that for a few blissful moments all their cares were forgotten, and they were back on that Caribbean beach before this whole nightmare had started. They hugged each other tightly, knowing that at last the barrier that had kept them apart had been shattered. They were together again – two people so very much in love.

At last they parted, Chloe wiping away her tears. She looked relieved, her face wreathed in a beautiful smile.

"Are you ready, Watchtower?" asked Oliver.

"Ready," she replied.

"Then let's do this."

Together they turned and made their way to the door, and the new life that awaited them.

* * *

><p>A mile or so from Metropolis General a man sat in a high backed chair, watching. A large TV screen filled the wall in front of him, its modernity in stark contrast to the rest of the room. Lit only by candles, it looked like something straight out of the nineteenth century, gothic furniture and wallpaper combining to give it a dark, almost sinister air. A number of paintings hung on the walls, but these only added to the sense of foreboding; all showed images of men being tortured, their faces twisted in agony as they suffered what appeared to be unimaginable cruelties at the hands of their unseen captors. For most, the pictures would have appeared grotesque; images to be destroyed, not put on display like works of art. But the man who sat in the chair was not like other men – for him, the pictures were things of beauty. He was a man who revelled in pain, delighted in the suffering of others; it made him feel alive, empowered like nothing else on earth.<p>

The man went by many names, taking and discarding them at will. For those who knew his true identity, his name was one that inspired fear and terror. He was a killer, a destroyer of men:

He was Desaad.

In front of him, the screen was filled with images of Oliver's impromptu press conference, carried live from the steps of the hospital. Surrounded by a sea of microphones, Oliver appeared confident, in control. Beside him stood Chloe, every inch the loving fiancé.

Desaad smiled. _How strong you look, Mr Queen,_ he thought to himself. _But we all know the truth, don't we? We all know how damaged you are inside….._

"_Mr Queen, how does it feel to have your name cleared?" _asked one of the reporters.

"_Great,_" replied Oliver. _"I'm only sad that Dean Caruso isn't here to share this moment with me – he was a great cop, and a good friend."_

"_And Green Arrow? Any chance we're going to see you back in the suit any time soon?"_

"_Look, I don't know guys," _said Oliver, smiling. _"All I want to do now is to take some time out with my beautiful fiancé – we've both been through a lot, and I think she deserves a break."_

"_So have we seen the last of the Green Arrow? Are you hanging up your leathers for good?"_

"_Ohh, he'll be back – you have my word on it. For so long as there are bad guys out there I'll be working to bring them to justice – whether that's in a costume or in a court room."_

"_Mr Queen, there are rumours that you don't work alone – that a team of people with special powers helped you bring down Lex Luthor."_

"_Really? That would be great, but I gotta tell you guys, you really need to get out more. People with special powers? Sounds like you've been reading too many comic books."_

"So, Luthor failed – I told you we could not rely on him."

Desaad turned, to find an elderly woman standing at the door. She looked disapprovingly at him, like a schoolmistress about to tell off a child who had been naughty.

"Granny, I've been waiting for you," he said smoothly, turning back towards the screen. "Come, join me – this is quite entertaining."

"This is no joke, Desaad," said the woman, clearly irritated by his flippant tone. "Luthor's failure to destroy the Justice League places all our plans in jeopardy – we cannot prepare for our master's arrival if the Kryptonian is still a threat to us."

Desaad smiled, trying to hide his irritation. The woman was his ally, but there were times when her hectoring tone tried his patience.

"We face a delay – nothing more," he purred, his eyes still fixed firmly on the screen. "Queen and his team are weak now – they have lost one of their own, and that will make them vulnerable. Rest assured I have a plan to dispose of them – already our followers are making preparations."

The woman smiled knowingly. "And so you get what you wanted after all – an opportunity to tame the archer."

"Granny, I exist only to serve our master," replied Desaad, as if hurt by her insinuation. "But if in preparing the way for him I can indulge some of my own needs….. well, what harm is there in that?"

"My interest is in the kryptonian – what you do with Queen is your own affair," she replied disdainfully; she knew what Desaad's "needs" were, what he wanted to do with the handsome billionaire whose face filled the screen…

"Are the girls with you?"

"My furies are here, yes."

"Good – I suspect we may have need of their talents in the days ahead."

Desaad continued to stare intently at the screen, studying Oliver's every move as he faced the world's press. Granny Goodness was right, of course – secretly he was delighted that Lex had failed in his attempt to destroy the JLA. Now the way lay open for him to put his own plans into effect, plans that he had been working on for many months. Soon the wheels would begin to turn, and one by one the members of the League would fall, starting with the Green Arrow himself. He had something special planned for the leather-clad vigilante, something that would make what he had suffered at the hands of Lex pale into insignificance…

_Enjoy this taste of freedom, Mr Queen, _he thought to himself. _Because soon I will make you mine, and then you will truly know the meaning of hell on earth._

**THE END**

* * *

><p><em>It's finished!<em>

I can't quite believe that we have finally reached the end. I started this story at the beginning of 2012, and it's been quite a journey to get to this point. Thank you so, so much for reading, and a special, special thank you to all my wonderful reviewers. Some of you have reviewed almost every chapter, and your support has been quite simply amazing - without you, I would never have reached this point.

I really hope you enjoyed this final chapter. I think I have managed to tie up all the loose ends, but forgive me if I have missed something. I couldn't resist setting up a sequel, and I do have some ideas about how it might develop - if you thought Lex put our heroes through hell, you have no idea what Desaad could do! Whether I write it is another matter. Part of me says it is time to stop - the show's finished, and I sense interest in what I'm doing is waning. Besides, after all I've put him through, maybe it's time to give poor Ollie a break! Let me know what you think in a review - if enough of you want another story, then maybe I'll do it.

If this is the end, a final thank you for reading my stories, and let me say one more thing. "Arrow" is a great show, but for me no one comes close to matching Justin's portrayal of Oliver on Smallville. As he said on the show, he _is _Green Arrow - the best hero on TV ever!


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